Players and Pawns : The Sacrifice
by Daniel Jay
Summary: THE COMPLETE STORY! I'll make it a bit easier to read soon by adding numerical breaks, promise:)


Ross had followed orders and set up the solders (if you wanted to call them that) in groups of ten. Each was given a specific point to station themselves at, armed with nothing but the silver swords that had been passed out to them a few hours before. This particular group was placed near the outer rim of the main sewer system. What made this area special was that it was located smack between two shafts, leading downwards, etching closer and closer to the cave where the real solders were. From this position it was assumed that they would hear if any vampires chose to use these entrances. If this was to happen, they were to engage the enemy and kill them. Easier said them done.

Emma was part of that group. The one assigned with the task that the others, down on the lower level, would have called suicidal. Stop the vampires, when they're fresh and eager to do battle, before they can head below. Emma shared these sentiments. 

What the hell am I doing here? It was a question that was so simple but yet impossible to answer. How could one pinpoint the defining moment in one's life when it never really seemed yours in the first place? When you seemed nothing but a pawn, born and bred for the purpose of dying at the convenience of the one you called Master. 

There was no singular moment for Emma. But hushed breaths that gently eased her on her path and never pointing to the way that could have been. Never once had she considered that there might be more to life than the Ecrasmau's. Not until three months previous, when she saw her parents led to slaughter. 

It was never given a name by Ross, the representative of the Master, but the chosen tended to call it 'cleaning house'. All those who were not 'fit' for the upcoming battle were to be put to death. It was brutal in its simplistic logic.

Emma was one of those chosen. Her parents and brother were not. The age limited designated by Jael was 16 to 29. They were deemed as the peak years. Emma couldn't say if it was fortunate that her birthday, sweet 16, was just a month before. Not after watching her parents enter the lower level and never return.

Her last conversation with her mother didn't fit with the cutting of what a last conversation should be. It wasn't cryptic, sad, or even like a goodbye. It was more like a 'see you in a bit'. Her mother seemed excited. Genuinely excited (it was promised that they would be fed off by the Ecrasmau's). Her father was so excited that he already secured his place in the line, leading downwards. Her brother, a child at the age of six, was right beside him. He eagerly questioned the reason for standing so long. It was answered with a simple; "We're going to meet him!"

Her mother was eager to join him, but sympathetic to her daughter's feelings. Watching your parents march off to their deaths could never be easy, she thought. Even if they were going to be back… someday. 

Emma was reminded of the stories she was told as a child. That hidden amongst the stars was Avalon, the eternal paradise where souls set off to after death. This comforted the child in Emma, longing to believe in a higher power and that things would always end up okay. But it left struck a chord with that same child her mother sought to ease. From that point on Emma held an unnatural fear that if she could see the stars when she died, her soul wouldn't know where to go. The thought of her parents, dead in that basement, left her feeling cold. 

Where were they?

Now here she was standing silent, as they all were, trying to see into the darkness that claimed them. It was a surreal dark, the kind where things weren't as clear as they should be, seeming half fake. Her hand was outstretched before her. But all she could see was the faded light outlining the part of her body. The fight wouldn't be easy in these conditions, but they were trained for them. To rely on sound and touch as much as sight, it was the sign of a true fighter.

Sound was the only warning when the fight began. It came from further down the tunnel. A gentle whistling that grew in the microsecond it took to reach her. It was a bolt, shot out from a crossbow and pinpointed on her. The proprietor of the weapon obviously practiced a lot. It struck her, lodging itself in the neck, cutting the jugular. 

She bellowed from the pain, feeling every once of strength sucked by the consuming anguish that shot through her body. She fell to the ground, her hands stretched to the sky (even in her present state she knew pressing on the bolt would only aggravate the sensation). The one thing she could be thankful for was that the bolt was nearly parallel with the floor when she hit. Her mother always told her to look for the silver lining.

As she lay on the ground, feeling her body chill as the blood was steadily pumped out of her body, the last image she saw stood in her mind. Impressed like a hot poker by the knowledge that she was going to die. That wasn't just guesswork anymore. It was a speck, two buttery gold eyes that caught her attention as she plummeted to the earth. They belonged to him, the one who killer her. Now they were coming, she could hear it. The rapid marching of the dead coming to drink her blood. 

She fought off the image and looked to the ceiling, trying to make her last few moments somewhat pleasant. It did nothing but. 

Emma died just as her parents did. Alone, bled, and surrounded by the night. There were no stars for her eyes to see.

* * * *

"Turn it down!"

"What?" Spike yelled over the blaring music.

"Turn it down!!!"

Spike snapped the stereo off. "Sorry, luv, couldn't hear you. What were you saying?"

Buffy fumed, grinding her teeth, as she watched Spike smirk through the rearview mirror. He positioned it perfectly, enjoying the opportunity to have a little fun. The others seemed indifferent. There were six of them in Spike's car. Spike, who was driving at his insistence, Sinister, also at the front, and Steff, who had been crunched into the middle. The back was where Buffy chose to sit, specifically at a window seat. It was that Slayer instinct kicking in again. To her right was The Dude, tickled pink by the fact that he was sitting between, what he would characterize as, two fine ass babes. Laney was to his right. 

Buffy sucked in the hate, letting it fester like an open wound in her stomach. She was determined to be the bigger man.

"Don't you think you can play a different song now?" she asked nearly masking the animosity perfectly.

"But I need my inspiration music," Spike replied. "'Sympathy for the Devil', the ultimate inspirational song."

He nearly turned the knob back to its original place when Buffy called out, "Why don't you play 'Street Fighting Man'! It's a good inspiration song, for obvious reasons," she added.

Spike considered this for a moment. "Nah! I think I'll stick with this one." Buffy griped the open air tightly. "For the forth time, here's 'Sympathy for the Devil'," Spike announced. His hand was blocked by Sinister's outstretched hand.

"Not again, man," Sinister said. Surprisingly his tone was non-threatening. "I can't take no more 'hoo hoo's. No more, for the love of god, no more."

"I second the motion," The Dude said.

"Same here."

"Me too."

"Oooooh, that's low," Spike said turning his head to see the passengers. "Siding with the Slayer. That's very low!" In a brisk movement that sent a flinch through half of the riders, Spike ejected the tape and tossed it out the already slightly opened window. "There! No more music! Ha!" he grinned. Though, to his disappointment, no one really cared.

"Thank you, oh satanic one," The Dude said looking at the floor.

"The Devil's in your feet?" Buffy asked. It was an idiotic question just to make conversation.

"The Dude's got some evil fungus going on down there," Laney said, adding her two cents.

"Screw you, hippie," the Dude said to Laney. "Not you, Slayer. You're cool." Buffy smiled at the frighteningly honest comment.

Laney scowled. "Oh, I can't believe I've been insulted by the walking Gap commercial! Holy, 'everybody in leather' and 'everybody in black'! Have some fucking creativity in the way you dress." Laney glanced at the members of the cab. They were cautiously glancing at the clothes they chose to don this evening. Even Spike, who never considered himself to be a superficial man (despite the bottle of moose he put into his hair every evening). "You too, Slayer. Why do you have to fit into the stereotype of what us hunters should dress as? Particularly the leather jacket. You're not a biker, so why do you wear it?"

Buffy shrugged. "I guess it all goes back to the Fonzie principle."

"The bear or the 70's hipster?" The Dude asked.

"Bear?"

"Y'know, yay tall," The Dude said putting his hand mid-chest, "bow tie, always says 'waka, waka'."

"That's Fozie bear." After saying that Buffy pointed out, "Plus we can never really know how tall he is, or was, since he we never got to see his legs."

"True… I guess."

"I'm thinking of the 70's hipster." The Dude was about to say something when Buffy cut him off. "Based on the hair I'm saying it was the 50's. Richie's hair was way too straight." The Dude reluctantly shrugged, not having any fashion facts to use as an argument. "But if it's leather, it's cool. That's what the Fonze taught me and those are words to live by."

"If you want to live by the credo of a man that said 'aye' for a living go ahead." Laney glanced forward. "Hey, Spike, when are we going to get there?"

"Jesus!" Spike exclaimed. "You just had to say that didn't you? You're like a couple of kids back there! You're over a thousand years old, shut up!"

"Fine then," Laney said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"And to answer your question, we should be at the old Burger King in a few minutes."

"I thought we were going to the power plant?" The Dude asked.

"The Burger King is very close to the power plant," Buffy explained. "Some idiot got the bright idea that they could kill the competition if they built it close to the highway. The power plant was just renovated so they sold it to BK cheap."

"What happened to it then?"

"The Dairy Queen in town. That and the fact the sight of mass industrialization in the background. I doubt it created an urge to rush out and buy a Whopper," she said. Her tone wasn't just bordering on sarcastic it was drenched.

"That's right," Sinister said jumping in. "According to our local Slayer, there's an entrance to the sewers that our adversaries probably forgot about."

"It was built over by the contractors. But thanks to me, and one very big jackhammer, it's back in action." Buffy gave herself a congratulatory nod. "It's the only chance we have of sneaking in our 30-man hit squad. With the others out making a big fuss very far away from us, it'll lessen the chances of us running into any patrols. Thus, little killing of people." Though it was minimal, Buffy heard a collective groan. "And there will be no torture! Kill them fast if you have to. Otherwise just knock them out. You need me and you know it, so don't piss me off!"

"Easy, Slayer," Steff said still looking to the empty road ahead. It was the first time Buffy had heard the strange woman speak. "We know that we need every fighter we can find, so I doubt anyone will deliberately anger you. It's after the fight that we will find out what the vampire community thinks of you… my dear Slayer."

Buffy could feel the mood of the room drop like a thermometer in subzero. But she chose not to look, not even glance in a vampire's direction. To see it, the mug of the spoiled child caught with the stolen money, it would be like throwing the last ground of dirt on the grave. The illusion of her and her allies peacefully parting ways after the battle would be gone. And she wasn't ready for that yet. 

Her view never left the muddled window. She watched as the first tiny drops fell, it was starting to rain.

* * * *

Lars brought the sword down, ending the suffering of the last of the humans. He felt a few trinkets of blood splash across his cheek. He shouldn't have swung so hard. It disgusted him, the blood clinging to his face. He was often mocked for it, a vampire hating the touch of warm, sweet, human blood. 

Lars suspected the phobia traced back to how he was turned. He couldn't say it was pleasant, but he doubted any vampire could. All he remembered was the pain, screaming, and the blood. The taste of his own… and the other's.

It was part of a sadistic ritual. A test to see who would be a better protégé, Lars or his twin brother, Tim. Their father had died nearly seven years earlier and now he had returned determined to claim his son. He just wasn't sure which one. Each was tied to his bed, lined up in a straight line. Their heads were a few inches apart. Perfect to hear the screams of the other. 

Then the torture began. Survival of the fittest, that's what their father kept repeating to himself continuously, barely audible (Lars suspected it was some sort of justification). He said the first to cry for mercy would die. They had little trouble believing him; they saw what he did to their mother.

They were cut and forced to drink the blood of the other. Good practice their dad said, his wide teeth glimmering in the moonlight. And then he would take to them with the staff. It was his preferred method of punishment since they were able to walk. 

Days later his brother broke. His heart was promptly removed and force-fed to Lars. Then Lars felt his wrist punctured and his mouth filled with blood. He knew it wasn't his or his brother's.

He woke some time later, feeling rejuvenated. Lying beside him was his brother's body. It was already suffering the effects of decomposition. But that didn't own Lars' attention, it was the mutilation. 

A big fucking hole in his chest.

He picked himself up and walked out of the room. Later he found his father, passed out in his former room with the stench of liquor radiating from his body. His mother's decapitated corpse was lying next to him too. 

Lars picked up the bloodied staff and rammed its dulled end into his father. He didn't know why at the time but his father turned into ashes. He aimed for the heart. 

Lars always did hate his father.

"Gross," Lars muttered. He wiped the blood from his face using the already dirtied cuff of his shirt. "Very gross."

"What's gross?"

"Blood," Lars answered. "Good to drink, not to play with."

The girl laughed. It was a sensuous laugh filled with the joy of the moment. Lars was momentarily distracted from the sight stretching up the sewer. Momentarily.

Lars faced the girl and mentally tried to wash away signs of displeasure. There's nothing worse than a wimpy vampire he'd be told. And wimpy vampires don't like to fight.

Pretty. 

"So what's your name?"

"Robin," she answered, still showcasing the white pearls of her mouth. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier. To busy with the move and the killing people."

"Yeah, everyone has."

Robin looked around the mass of people standing throughout the tunnel. "Where's fearless leader?"

Lars began shifting through the dirt with his sword. "Mr. Nicholas is somewhere around here. Him, Nat, Dirk, Lando, Isaryk, and Hailey. To quote a great mob man, 'they're all swimming with the fishes'."

"Or swimming in the dirt, to be more precise."

"Lying in the dirt if you're going to be that precise," he said trying not to insult her. 

She shrugged and said, "Alright."

Her lips were slightly curled; a hint of a smile. Lars heard a rouse of mental fanfare. The trumpets were a nice touch.

"If you want the final scorecard here it is, six dead, one wounded." Lars pointed behind Robin to Pistol Pete. The vampire was hunched over a body, grappling his bloodied side while sinking his teeth into the neck of one of the humans. "He should be a decent drone after he's done eating. Which means that after our first fight our group has dwindled from 15 to nine. And I'm counting nine bodies here so I suspect one of theirs got away. Nine is just a bad number when putting together a squad," he said with an absolute certainty.

"I saw one of the boys running near the end, but I was busy putting a stake in another one to give chase." Lars looked at her curiously. "I'm a big fan of poetic justice," she said feeling a little embarrassed.

"Nothing wrong with some ironic vengeance. Good for the soul, or lack thereof." 

"Anything to brighten my day." Robin looked over Lars' shoulder. The other vamps were swimming up from the post battle daze. They looked restless. "What do we do now?"

"Continue forward. Go down that ladder and kill some humans. Probably have a few more of our own killed in the process but it's all in a day work."

Robin shifted her stance. Lars recognized it and knew he said something wrong. "That's a nice attitude you got there."

"I'm just being realistic. Our job isn't to be stealthy or even make it deep into the sewer. We're here to make some noise. And based on the fact that we just got our asses kicked and one of them got away, who's probably talking with his buddies right now, I'd say the odds or us all walking away from here are very, very slim."

Robin sluggishly nodded. She didn't like his attitude but she understood it. She'd lost enough (kinda) friends today.

"Well," Robin picked up her sword from the floor; "I have nothing to say." 

"How bout good luck?"

"I think we'll all need that."

2

"And that's the plan," Giles said polishing the lens' of his glasses.

"Seems simple enough," Xander said. "We're not talking Dr. Evil complex but it has its own charm."

No one seemed to get the joke. But then it wasn't George Carlin funny so he wasn't expecting them to be on their sides laughing. A verbal response along the lines of "Xander" would have been good enough. Breaking the tension man, it was his designated stop in life.

Xander sat on the exact same chair as he did when Angel left and since returned with Giles at his side. No word from Liam or Amy he said. Called Giles', Amy's, called every place he could think of. Not a word. 

But Buffy didn't know that. As far as she was concerned both he and Angel decided to stay at the hospital. When Angel ran into Giles in the hallway he was given the message passed along from Buffy. 

"Sorry for earlier. I'm sure you had the best intentions at the time. Someone has to say with Willow. Don't know if someone will try to come after her so close to the end. We'll talk later." That was the gist of it.

Now Angel stood in the corner of the room, brooding, but ever vigilant. If the bulb at the center of the room weren't as luminous as it was, he would have been perfectly masked in the shadows. It was amazing at how quickly he settled back into the old routine.

Willow looked okay to the two. The signs of her sobs were there. The dark, red circles around her eyes. But it never occurred to them to worry overly for her, not more then they already were. To come across the aftermath of the crashed plane is a lot different than seeing it hit the ground. 

Giles was in front of the door, waiting.

"I guess we should go inform the parents," Xander said standing up.

"I can do that," Giles said.

"Naw, I think you'll need some backup when talking to both mom's."

"He's right, Giles," Willow said, speaking for the first time since he entered the room. "When my mom's passionate about something she can be quite… tenacious."

Giles was quiet for a second. "That's not the correct word but I get the point. Thank you for your help, Xander."

Xander smirked. "Sure do." He leaped to Giles' side and turned back to Willow. "You want anything from the snack machine?"

"An apple would be nice."

"I don't think there's enough sugar in one to warrant its place in a vendor, but I'll find you one."

Willow appreciatively nodded and Xander led Giles out the room. It was less then a minute when the two left in the room had a similar thought. This sure is awkward. 

"So," Angel said in his usual hushed tone, "how are you doing?"

"Let's just lay off the depressing topics, Angel," Willow said half-serious. Angel nodded. She waited a moment and then said, "How did it go with Buffy?"

"I thought you wanted to stay off depressing topics?"

"That bad, huh?"

"It could have been worse." He walked out of his spot in the corner. "I could have tried to kill all her friends for instance."

"On the bright side, you have nowhere to go but up."

"I heard up is a good place."

"Same here. Haven't been there in awhile."

Angel stopped his march. His voice was serious, all knowing. More so than Willow had heard in a long time. "You'll get there."

The door opened again and Angel felt his body tense. He immediately started to choreograph the potential fight. To fail Buffy again wasn't an option. 

Willow felt no such thing, nestled in the comforting knowledge that Buffy was out there kicking ass and one of the badest vampires around was here to protect her. But she couldn't smell the scent that just hit Angel.

"Hello," the familiar voice called. 

"Why did you have to open the door so slowly?" the male voice asked.

"I'm sorry. It's just polite not to barge in on people."

As Amy and Liam stood in the doorway bickering, a mild relief hit Angel. It wasn't any person that held the strange smell; it was the book in Liam's hand.

* * * *

Buffy felt she needed a shower. She could feel the damped strands of hair sticking to her forehead and the rest wasn't feeling any better. She felt sticky, uncomfortable, all of the above. Standing in the drizzling rain wasn't her idea of a good time but what else was there to do. She wanted to see how the crowd would respond to Sinister's orders.

Sinister stood on the truck of Spike's car, his own version of a podium. The crowd was gathered around end of the singular car parked in the middle of the aged lot. Though the circular tread marks lining the inside of the parking lot were new, showing exactly who was driving. Leave in to Spike to make a scene out of parking. The other five cars were parked in the back, neatly tucked away from the view of the common highway driver.

Buffy slammed the heavy gym bag on the hood of the car. She let a smile grace her lips as she imagined the newly formed dent. But with her luck Spike wouldn't care. The car was already a bloody mess, to put it mildly. 

"The swords are titanium," Sinister said holding one in plane view. "They're the best that money can buy. Nothing can break them. Unless they have some sort of anti-titanium sword breaking spell, but we're all hoping that they don't. Swing it hard enough and you should be able to penetrate any living thing. Like say, someone's neck." A few agreeing groans could be heard. "Last time these guys wore some sort of undergarment that left them impenetrable to bullets. Chances are they'll be using the same things again. Remember that. Go for the arms, legs, anything that'll hurt. Then chop off their heads. You're vampires… fight dirty." Again, agreement.

"He has a kind of Hitler aura going on right now doesn't he?"

Buffy looked to her side. It was The Dude. 

I must be off my game when 'The Dude' can sneak up on me. 

"I was thinking Stalin," Buffy said, rummaging through the bag. "He's a lot taller than Hitler."

"You all know the plan," Sinister continued. "The first group of ten will leave right away. After that the second will leave three minutes later. And so on for the third. Once we make it to Jael, after killing a lot of humans," he smirked, "our job is to engage the enemy. Kill a few of his followers hopefully, but not to confront Jael directly. We don't know anything about his fighting skills but chances are he's badass. Once the second group arrives we'll engage the target." He paused for a second, letting his voice rest. "Remember to only attack in twos. You'll have a better chance that way. If luck is at our side, he'll be stupid enough to be standing right beside this so-called portal. Now I don't care what you have to do, chop him up into a little pieces and drag him in one at a time, but get him into that portal! And if you have the chance… rescue the boy. Get him out of there and out of the sewer. That'll fuck up his plan nice and good!"

If they start screaming Zeil Heil I'm out of here. 

The Dude added his voice to the cheer. Buffy was quiet. Sinister was finishing up when Buffy retrieved her sword from the inside of the bag. The Dude smiled.

"You do know that they're handing out new, better swords?"

Buffy held the sword vertical, weighing it. "I've been practicing with this baby an hour a day for the past seven months. I'm not about to trade it in now. I'm used to it."

Buffy slid the sword into the holster and began to look through the bag again. The Dude, seeing he was getting nowhere, offered a final smile to the girl who wasn't looking and left. Buffy heard another set of footsteps moving through the puddles as the other left.

"Inspiring?" Sinister asked, obviously pleased with himself.

"Actually, I couldn't past the fact that the hedgehog hair is gone."

Sinister touched the top of his head and felt the plastered down clump of hair. "Touché."

"Here's your item," she said and pulled out a sleek object wrapped in a ragged old blanket. She handed it to Sinister who placed it inside his trench coat (amazing what they could fit it there, huh?).

"Thank you," he responded casually, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

"No problem. The Dude must think I packed an entire arsenal from how long I've been digging around in this bag." 

"Yeah, well, I don't want anyone but me or my boys packing hardware. I don't trust these hotheads. It's bad enough I have to work with them." He sighed. "But it's all part of the glory."

Buffy stopped. She looked Sinister in the eye for the first time since he walked over. "Glory?"

Sinister looked uneasy. "This the first time I've ever fought for anything that I ain't being paid for. You may be used to doing this heroic stuff, not me! This is the first noble fight I've ever been involved in."

Buffy scoffed. "There's nothing heroic about wanting to save your own ass." She grabbed an object from the bag and tossed it into the air before Sinister could identify it. It arced perfectly and landed in his palm, instinctively opened to catch it.

"Jesus!" he cried and flung the object like it scorched his skin as the sun would. Which was kind of true, crosses weren't friendly to vampires. 

From the wandering crowd, sparsely gathered near the entrance to the building, someone bawled, "HA HA!"

"Fuck you!" Sinister snapped and went back to examining his hand.

"Just because you're giving out the orders doesn't mean you're leading this little escapade," Buffy said zipping the bag shut. "The only reason you aren't dead yet is because some of these guys are smart enough to realize that the plan itself is smart, they need a figurehead for the minions to follow, you were the first one here to claim leadership, and you've yet to piss anyone off." She paused, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. "You're far from Malcolm X, buddy. You're hardly a Bill Clinton."

Buffy raised her chin and walked off to the building, a very confident stride as she went. She knew that Sinister was burning his eyes into her back but the smiles of the crowd were an oddly rewarding site. The situation drifted into the background and for the moment she actually felt good. It was a momentary feeling.

* * * *

Ross paced through the crowd. The eight were lined parallel along each side of the tunnel, creating a path for their leader. This wasn't good. He knew this was going to happen but still, it wasn't good.

"Well?"

Ross stopped. "Well, nothing. We have our orders and we have to stick to them."

This didn't please Patrice. "Didn't you here what I just told you. They're dead! The entire team is dead. Eliza, Rowan, Stan, they're all dead!"

"And they won't be the last. Chances are we've lost entire other teams as well. The dead can't tell us they've been killed," he added coldly.

I wish they could but they can't. That's part of what makes being dead so shitty. 

Patrice clicked her tongue, taking this all in with a look of gladdened disgust. She clamped her extended fingers together and placed her chin on the tip, as if to pray. Though any person who somehow managed to come across this woman would say she was praying to Satan. The toothless grin slit across her face and wide eyes didn't enforce an impression of sanity.

"Well," Patrice said, throwing down her hands. "I'll go pass along the suicide message. Cheers."

As Ross watched Patrice dash off, he was struck with an honest opinion of himself. He was, quite frankly, a bastard. A cowardly bastard even. But that's why he accepted this way of life. He was afraid to die.

Patrice's news upset him not just because his comrades were being killed, but because he could be next. Though, rational was on his side. The odds of himself being killed by a vampire were nearly nil, and that's the way he liked it. 

He took a few factors into careful consideration when selecting his place in the battlefield. The first, and most obvious, was distance to Jael. In case of emergency, he had to be able to reach his master's quickly. With only one patrol between the two points it would be easily accomplished. The next was the statistical probability of the confrontation reaching them. Thanks to a little creative planning, he knew that he would be safe.

In terms of a military strategy, this was the safest place to be. There were no entrances from the surface in the immediate area. And to get to here a vampire would, hopefully, have to fight through two patrols. If they caused enough commotion, it would rise to three or four. 

And even if they somehow manage to make it below, I don't think they'll take time to climb back up here to kill us. Hell no. Jael will succeed and my days will be longer and happier than any man in history. 

"People," Ross began. He tried his best to implore a dignified voice. "the battle has begun. Now there is no room for cowardice. We each have our role to perform and will do so to the best of our own abilities. If we do this right… we'll live out our days in paradise."

Ross stopped, trying to get a sense of the group. He couldn't see them, not their faces anyway. But their demeanor, straight and tall, unfeeling, gave him hope. They were soldiers, born and raised for this day. Most were fanatics and could think of nothing better than to die for the cause. 

Better them than me. 

"Questions?"

The response was quick, without thought or debate. To his back, Ross heard the sound of movement and then the sensation hit. The first cut was long. It stretched from beneath his shoulder to the top of his hip. The assailant brought the sword back around, this time slicing the fat in a short, slightly horizontal line. The result was a crudely drawn x where the blood streamed, gushing.

Ross hit his knees, a moment later his chin met with the concrete. The dumbfounded look that struck as the blade first pierced didn't dissipate. 

It was as he lost consciousness that he met with the final revelation. It wasn't an outsider that killer him, it was one of his own.

* * * *

Willow watched him. It was all she could do. There was no sense in trying to reason with him, she saw that now. He was too far-gone to turn back; he couldn't see himself not trying the ritual. It wasn't even a possibility to him. 

She shouldn't have encouraged him. He took it as a blessing. An unwritten contract that she would help him no matter what. And in a way he was right. She did want him to find himself. It just… seemed wrong. Correction, it was wrong. Buffy was out there fighting to save them all and Liam didn't want to recognize that. It was better for him to think of it as a war half the world away that held no bearing. She knew that when they were finished it would grow and encompass his vision to the point where he could no longer deny the urgency. Then they could decide how to help her.

They had to begin, quickly.

"It's the blood of a Neqrede demon," Angel said looking at the sketches in the book. He examined it closer. "This is truly a work of art."

"You mind elaborating a little further," Amy said. "Like say why you and Liam can read it and me and Willow can't?"

That's a very good question, Willow thought to herself.

"This is the work of the Trictrn. They were a race of demons that have been extinct for 3500 years or so. Legend has it they were a weak race. So in order to survive, they had to develop skills to justify their existence. This book is the product of one of those skills." He gave the book back to Liam. "It's demon encryption, based on the patterns of the blood and its potency in places. It's complex."

"No doubt," Liam said. "But that shouldn't be any problem. I translated the ritual we have to perform onto Amy's laptop while we were driving around picking up supplies."

Willow noted the laptop in the corner. Its battery was low so they took the time to plug in into the electric socket. Placed next to it was a duffel bag. Willow could smell the herbs inside. They were unfamiliar, more potent than anything she'd ever used. Her spells were never so dangerous.

"Well let's do this then," Amy said, growing frustrated. "The sooner we get this done the sooner we can go help Buffy."

"Or we don't do this, me and Liam flip a coin and one of us will go into the sewer to help Buffy."

"That's not an option," Liam stated, as if an absolute. "You and I will go as soon as we're done here. We'll have a better chance of making it to Austin if we're working together. One will be a guaranteed suicide mission."

Angel looked Liam in the eye. "Buffy left us here for a reason. Someone has to stay here to make sure everybody remains safe. They may try to strike at us personally to throw us off."

"I don't think so," Liam said shaking his head. "I don't see the logic in it. Why would he deplete his forces now? He needs every man he can get to protect himself from the 80 plus vampires attacking him. And even if he wanted to strike at us, I don't think he'd try it. He knows family means a lot to us and we'll fight to protect them. He'd have to send a massive or well-trained team to take us out, and he can't afford that now. Any effort to harm Joyce, Ira, etc. would be useless. He's a military mind, he knows that."

"The risk isn't worth it."

"Yes it is!" he shouted. "I'm not going to let my friend's boy to be… to be killed," he whispered.

I can hear you, Liam. I don't want to but I can. 

"Are you so determined to do this that you're willing to risk Willow's health?" Angel asked, almost tauntingly.

Liam sighed. "The only risk will be for me. And I wouldn't ask you," he said facing Willow, "if it wasn't absolutely necessary. It says we need to create a triangle. Amy can handle the incantations and mixing the herbs. I'll be the one to make contact and all I need you to do is complete the triangle and say your lines when Amy tells you to." He paused, humbling himself. "You're the only one who's dealt with magic like this so you're the only one I trust."

Willow was looking at her hands. She didn't want to see them right now. Looking at them had become too much. It was all too much. So much to consider, so much to consider. There was something missing, she knew it.

"Angel," Willow said, "can I talk to you for a minute… alone?"

Willow couldn't see it, but she knew Liam's expression cracked. The next thing she heard was the sound of footsteps and the door closing. She raised her head. Angel stood at the furthest end of the room, perfectly adjacent.

"Be honest with me, what aren't you telling us?"

He looked shamed, but amused. Pride of a father whose daughter had grown up to find him out. A gentle smirk grew on his face. He was looking at the floor, and chuckled lightly.

"It's amazing to me how much you've grown in the past four years," he said. "How much you all have." He wiped the smile from his face, taking a serious tone as he did. "The Trictrn were a slave race… to vampires. The inscription says 'Dead Eyes Can See'. Dead Eyes was an old term used for the undead, vampires." He paused. He would have sighed if he held breath. "Only vampires can read that book. No other race, living or dead, can."

Willow flinched, but fought to steady herself. That was it. That was the identity Liam sought. That would give his life the purpose he desired, craved. But there had to be more. Both he and Angel possessed souls but Liam was alive. He was different.

Like Jael? 

"Bring them in here," she commanded. "Tell Liam we'll start right now."

It has to be settled before it all ends? one way or another. 

3

Buffy sat like a frog on a lily pad. Her feet were planted on the befouled concrete. Her knees pointed to the sky, nearly horizontal with her shoulders. The square of her clasped fingers sat in the mud and other wastes of the tunnel, holding the sword from the floor. Her other hand was placed over her mouth, suppressing the sound of her breath. She didn't want to make a peep. Not when they were so close. 

She could see them, the shrouds of dark standing in the distance. They were waiting. 

Behind her were her partners in this exploit, Adabasi, Judi, The Dude, and Sophie. Each sat as Buffy did, low to the ground. But their backs were placed firmly against the wall. This made Buffy feel uneasy. She was the only one who dared to sit in the middle. She felt naked to the possible attacks from in front and possibly behind.

Time to do this, Buffy. 

Buffy stood and felt the others follow. The hairs at the back of her neck said so. No movement from afar, they hadn't noticed. 

It had to be real, she told herself. She had to be weak, ripe for the picking. They had to believe that they could kill easily. She placed her right foot around her left ankle and felt her balance lessen. Still, no movement. She breathed deep and catapulted herself forward.

This might hurt.

As she tumbled to the ground, Buffy let the sword fly. It wouldn't be enough for her to just hit the ground. Chances were they weren't the best soldiers and her little show would be for nothing. They hadn't heard their previous movements, against their credit. The sword hit the wall and the clear cling followed. The sound traveled down the tunnel quickly.

Buffy managed to twist herself and landed on her shoulder. The leather jacket slid along the surface for less than a moment before she stopped. She should have put her hair back, pressed against this goo couldn't be good. 

"Slayer," Judi said, her voice uneven.

Buffy looked to the group in the distance. This time they had noticed. 

Come on. Don't think. Act! 

Buffy began to scramble for her sword when the five took off. The other half stood back, wary but confident. In the dark Buffy spotted the outline of her weapon and the light coloring of its surface. She grabbed for its handle and picked herself up in a hurried fashion. The five were nearing.

Just a few more seconds. They were a feisty bunch. Their relaxed robes flapped easily as they bolted down the tunnel. Buffy increased her grip. Another second.

And they were past, all but one. The lucky one. He never saw it coming. 

Buffy saw the three pass the entrance they'd used to enter. Then, in a brief glimpse, she saw the sword. It moved quickly, like a flash of lightning. The boy never had the time to scream as his head rolled off his neck.

"RRAAA!"

She wasn't sure who yelled the battle cry, and she didn't care. It did as it was intended. It caused them to stop and take note of the head rolling behind them, like a watermelon off a truck. They took site of the five vampires charging them immediately after.

Buffy and the others charged. It was now or never. In the two seconds it took for her to reach the group, another had been killed.

She worked quickly and quietly. The leader had her back to Buffy. She was still captivated by the head of the fallen. Buffy took the sword and pushed it forward. It slid through her back and pierced her heart. Buffy was thankful for that.

The two remaining decided to fight. Though, it did them little good. They were outmatched and outnumbered by this superior group of vampires. One was killed on the attack by the sword slicing through his midsection. The other died as she was struck in the back, trying desperately to protect her front. She succeeded in that much.

There was no time to rest. The vampires stopped momentarily and faced the remains of the squad. Then they charged.

Run! Buffy called out. But she knew they wouldn't. It was their pride that sent only half the squad to attack and it would be pride that would send them to their deaths. 

Buffy looked on the bodies that lay before her. They were all dead. Killed swiftly as she ordered. It gave her no comfort as she heard the scream of another. She fought back the tears and wiped her sword on the cloth of her kill. 

Buffy gathered herself and pressed forward.

* * * *

"What was that?"

"Our boys doing their jobs," Lars answered.

Robin stopped and held out her arm, signaling the others to follow. Lars opened his ears to the echoes traveling down the corridor. His nose caught something else. They were near and the blood was fresh.

"Let's go," Robin said and dashed forward.

"Wa-" It was too late. She was already on her way. Lars lowered his head and pointed forward grudgingly. "Go."

The others did as told and took off. Robin was already rounding the corner when Pistol Pete passed him, still aching. His jog was crooked, his left lag dragging slightly behind the right. It was as if the wound in his side stretched down to his leg. 

Guess it was deeper than I thought. 

Lars paused, readying himself for the coming bath. It would be messy, they always were. The time was up. He couldn't let any of his friend's fall. 

Lars smiled lightly. They were his friends. They killed with a bloodlust and they were his friends. Mama done wrong, child.

He ran as quickly as he could and picked up Pistol Pete by the arm as he passed him. He lowered his pace significantly but that was okay. You weren't supposed to leave anyone behind in battle. So he'd been told.

They rounded the corner and Lars released Pete. A dam had been constructed further down the tunnel. Several vampires, all lined up into a solid wall of flesh and bone. He spotted his fellows soldiers before and apart of it. There was something beyond it, something dangerous.

"Give me you sword, Pete," Lars said sternly.

Pete handed over the blade, handle first. Lars offered a quick nod of appreciation and took off. 

It took him a few seconds to reach the group. By that time Lars had a good idea of what was going on. Through the clutter of his own, Lars heard them. The carried voices said, "Back away! Fucking stay back!"

They were surrounded. But like a frightened animal that still held its claws, it wouldn't be likely for them to just lie down and die, to Lars' chagrin. 

Lars met with the blockade and pushed his way through. Though, he kept it in mind to hold the sides of the blades against his legs and to be mindful of the others'. No need to provoke the already stressed vampires with a minor graze that would sting more than agonize. They might take it upon themselves to try to cut him where the sun don't shine. Try, mind you.

"Back!" the girl raged and hurled her sword at the vampires. Lars momentarily stepped back but found himself back at his place a second later. She wasn't going anywhere. 

She was panicked and with good reason. There were two of them, back to back; brandishing their weapons like they held back every boogieman a child has dared to dream. The girl before Lars was young, possibly early twenties. The sweat beaded from her forehead like a river. Lars could see why thing were especially gloom for this young lady. 

Below her shoulder was where her pain thrived, spreading the frenzy as it festered. The clothing around the tear was already soaked a blacker shade. She was starting to feel the affects of the blood loss.

Lars couldn't see the other girl behind her, but her mannerisms were no worse. She held herself with more confidence, actually. That would change if her friend decided to pass out.

Damnit. Lars studied the river of blood at his feet. The others were stepping on the bodies and the pink by his feet looked like a finger. Gross. 

There were several other bodies that littered the walk before the girls. Lars counted four. Chances were a lot of ash was mixed along with them. This group didn't look over 20. 

Just damnit all to Hell. This had to end, Lars knew. His boots were going to get a lot messier before the day was done. 

Lars walked forward, uncertainty never entering his stride. This wasn't a move she was expecting; her face said it like a neon billboard. When his foot hit the ground, Lars lifted the sword in his left hand. Less than a second later he attacked.

The backhand was wild, fierce, having no plan but to hit the girl. She blocked it, as Lars knew she would. But the pain was wearing on her. Her wrists unlocked, and found themselves pointing to the floor. Turmoil ran across her features.

Lars stepped forward with his right foot and pushed his arm along with it. He met eyes with the girl for a moment; her eyes were no longer wild. The blade entered her belly and slid unabated. The girl cringed but kept on her feet. Lars kept pushing.

Finally the handle hit and Lars released his grip. The sword had punctured the girl and entered her friend on the opposite side. It wasn't pretty, not at all.

The girl's knees buckled and she fell onto her side, dragging her friend with her. They sputtered and gasped like fish out of water. Then they were dead.

"Pete!" Lars yelled to his back. His eyes were still on the girl. "Come get your sword!" He added under his breath, "I sure as hell ain't removing the shica-whatever."

"The man!" 

Lars turned to where he came. They were staring at him, and worse, smiling. Smiles to a guy that went into self-exile for the past nine years. Lars felt the urge to yell out 'fuck you' but caught himself at the last minute. Behind the maze of heads, he caught a very particular smile. Those same white pears. Lars tried his best to reflect the image before him.

I hope I don't look like those guys in that Soundgarden video. 

One set of teeth was blaring, sticking out like a german shepherd at a poodle convention. The man rushed Lars. He was the same height as Lars, round 5'11, but a tad more pudgy. His teeth seemed to stretch with his face.

He extended his hand and shook Lars' ferociously. Lars felt his entire arm shake with the movements.

"Good show," the man said. "Good show, Mr.…"

"No last names, too formal. Just call me Lars." He paused trying to wriggle his hand free. "And you're…"

"Soprano," he replied. "But just call me Joe. They all do."

"Joe," Lars said, as if to remember it. "Nice name. Simple, yet elegant."

"It gets me around." Just then two vampires stepped out of the line and rushed behind Lars. He knew what they were going to do. He already heard others from the later side move to have a late supper. Joe's eyes panned to the four. "Waste not, want not."

"I guess." The perfect phase when you don't want to say 'dirty bastards, DRINK IT FRESH!' "Save some for my buddy, Pete," Lars said to the vampires.

"No prob," one said, giving a bloody thumb up.

Dirty, dirty bastards. 

"So, I know this is an obvious question, but where you headed?" Lars asked.

"Why, to the big bad boss," Joe said with a giddy smirk. "You're welcome to join us. We lost… six guys to these cheeky bastards."

"Got them in kind, though. You gotta be proud of that."

Joe nodded and his face brightened. "Hey, maybe we'll run into Christopherson? I heard he's working through this area."

"He is the man," Lars agreed. "Any guy who brings 30 of his own soldiers is alright by me. Makes my job a lot easier."

"Damn rights." Joe pointed to one of the corpses lying by the side of the tunnel. "You want a drink?"

Lars shook his head. "No thanks."

Dirty, dirty, dirty bastards. 

* * * *

"Is this really necessary?" Liam pushed all the air out his nostrils only to be filled immediately afterward. The smell was getting to him.

"You typed it yourself," Amy said, painting Liam's forehead with the mixture of herbs and other softer organic materials. It was a gunk.

"Yeah, but I didn't think it would stink so bad."

Amy smiled crookedly. "That's what happens when you contact demons from a nexus dimension. You get a triangle on your forehead that smells like feet." She slapped him on the face. "All done."

Amy pressed her index finger against her forehead, creating a large glob, and then did the same to Willow.

"Bleah," Willow said feeling the green stick and pollute.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. A little raven eye won't kill you." Amy sat back down onto her side of the bed with Liam on the other. Angel stood in the corner, watching.

Liam felt an urge to touch the symbol, like a child with a scab.

"Don't touch," Amy ordered. She slapped his hand as he raised it to his head.

"Okay, owe."

"Well, don't touch. The symbol has to be perfect to channel the magic we'll be conjuring. Willow and me are just the conjurers; you'll be the one filled with the energy. So don't mess with the emblem!" Her tone took on a fearing state. "We might fry your brain or something."

"Yeah," Liam said. 

It was complex, the spell. Along with the tray beside her, Amy had littered her bowls and glass containers along the edge of the bed. Each was filled with an ingredient vital to the spell. There were a lot, each with its own texture and solidity. They ranged from gross to not so gross. Eight counted Liam. Beside her was the bowl that she'd used to create the mixture for the markings. At the middle, sitting on Willow's exceptionally stiff legs, sat the silver bowl that looked more like an oval pan. It would be where each ingredient would be placed one at a time, till the end of the ritual. Beside it, also on Willow's legs, was the laptop.

Amy was reading it while taking a pinch full from two sources. "Boy, there's a lot of rat heart involved in this thing."

"Gross," Willow said, her expression scrunched.

"How can you be a witch and afraid of animal organs? It's a good thing all this stuff was ground up before I bought them. I'd hate to see how you'd react to the bat heads."

"That's just not good conversation," Liam said, joining Willow.

"Well, that's the life of a witch. You're not a real one till you've beheaded a cat." She took a match from the box on the counter to her right, lit it, and tossed it into the pan with the mess. It ignited in a flash of fire and extinguished itself. A steady flow of smoke rose from the charred remains.

"Hey, Angel, you want to go get Giles before we start?" Amy asked.

Angel was silent. "No," he responded, quiet. "I'll stay, make sure you're safe."

Amy shrugged, thinking nothing of it. "Okay, just make sure no nurses barge in."

Liam, on the other had, did think something of it. It was weird, somewhat rational but weird. But there was no time to mull over the thoughts. Amy said they were going to start.

Deep inside, he thought he could hear a familiar rasp, readying its horn. The voice was coming, again.

4

Buffy and the nine walked through the tunnel. Besides the four who joined her as the decoys there was Sinister, Burlson, Ian, Laney, and Majula. She was at the front, leading the group. It wasn't a situation she envisioned until months before. She doubted any other Slayer had to resort to such desperate acts for any reason.

Another Buffy first. First to die and come back and the first to lead a large group of vampires into battle. If Dad could see me now… he'd be disturbed. 

Buffy felt a low grumbled in her stomach. She should have eaten more than those crackers before she left. If the image of the bodies stayed with her for much longer, the crackers may just leave her stomach in protest.

Buffy was keeping the slow pace when the sound changed. The vampires had stopped. She turned back, keeping her view to both sides as best she could.

"You smell that?" Sophie asked.

"Smells like…" Majula stopped. Buffy heard her suck at the air. "Blood?"

From the front of the group, Buffy heard a low, crackling laugh. She turned completely and saw Sinister. A sleek grin was slit across his face. He was partially hunched over, looking at the floor and vibrating with each snicker. He kept his teeth locked, trying to sustain the laughter. Eventually he broke and the cowering mirth sprung free.

"Ha ha ha!"

"I guess standup comedy should have been your field," The Dude said to Majula.

"Wait," Buffy said, "why are you guys smelling blood? No one else should be near here."

"Let's just go," Sinister said still clutching his stomach. "I'll explain it on the way."

"Crazy ass, white boys," Sophie said, watching Sinister stager forth.

Sinister strolled down the tunnel, leading, with Burlson following in his usual mute fashion. Buffy and the others watched and listened. They were waiting for him to speak, but they were also scanning. They weren't ready to let up their guard, despite Sinister's chaotic glee.

"You see," Sinister began, "I ain't as stupid as a certain girl would like to believe. I've had a rough plan in my mind for the past six months and this is a part of it. A couple of months back I sent my boy, Burlson here, to hide with a few old friends of mine. They're humans but they're cool. Cause, you see, Burlson here is a kick ass lackey for three reasons. He listens, he has potent blood, and he dabbles in the occult."

"I've been practicing since I was ten," Burlson said flatly.

"And it shows. Burlson here can do practically any spell you ask him too. And best of all, his blood can turn any human in less than an hour."

"No way," Laney said. "It takes at least a day to turn a human. And the fastest I've seen is four hours and the guy was sired by Kakistos."

"I was sired by The Master."

Laney was stunned. "Really?"

Burlson nodded. "And it happened on the day of St. Vigius so that helped."

"How does this relate to the smell?" Buffy asked, her tone impatient.

"Burlson here turned a two of those human servants a few hours ago. Right before I arrived. He's been living in a basement, and had every masking spell known to demon performed on himself. In hope of rendering himself invisible to our enemies. He didn't even go out in public once."

Buffy flinched. "You've been locked in a basement for the past six months?"

Burlson smiled lightly. "I like the dark."

"That he does," Sinister said. "After the initial attack I sent the humans out on the town to look for any people strange to Sunnydale. Luckily they found them, one boy and one girl. They were playing hooky or something? Well, my buds knocked them out and took them back to Burlson who promptly killed and sired them. Then he performed all his masking spells while they were hibernating or whatever you want to call it. I just wasn't sure if the spells would keep or if they'd be accepted back after being gone for so long. That's why I only told Adabasi about it. We worked together a while back so I trust him."

Adabasi nodded, silent.

Sinister slapped his hands together, echoing loudly. "Well, the moles are in place! If they're smart they killed the group they were apart of and are waiting for us. The chances of us being ambushed are significantly lowered, yay. And we told them to take out a patrol close to the lair so we're almost there." Sinister smelled the air. He smiled. "Just a little farther. A little farther and we'll be there." 

* * * *

His fingers felt hot, tingling. Like the power of infinite was harnessed within them, waiting to be released to do with as he pleased. Beyond them he felt the touch of the warm flesh. They sat with their arms straight and pointed, their fingers connecting at the designated point. Liam could also fell the gentle smoke flowing upward and around his hands, gently caressing them as it blessed and bewitched.

It was near. The tension in his gut felt like it could explode any time. Other than that he felt calm. Calmer than he had in his months since his awakening. He couldn't let it free; the thought was a mantra that helped him. It was coupled with the knowledge that it was almost over, all of it. 

Soon he would meet with what may be his heritage, the Vymri Cerln. They would give him his answers and then he would be off. He and Angel would join Buffy and protect her from the Ecrasmau's and then the vampires. The vampires would be weakened after the fight and hopefully they would be able to make way and escape from the dungeon. 

Then the new battle would begin. What would it be? What would life be without the constant threat of the return and the battle afterwards? 

Liam could hear the steady chant of the two. He did his best to block the sound as well as the sight. To ready himself for whatever would come. Still he heard it. They spoke mechanically but with the emotion holding its own. Soft words. His own mind ached to call the latter.

His fingers surged. The energy shot and leaked its juices from his body. His hands rattled and shook with the mystical suspension gone. For a moment he felt very old.

The chanting stopped and a silence followed. Liam wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The situation hadn't helped his patience much and he opened his eyes. They immediately squinted at the sight.

It was a light, brighter than the sun at noon and focused to the point of blindness. It stood, taking the shape of a circle, before him. It hovered above his rattling fingers. 

Then, without warning, it grew. He saw nothing but the white light.

Oh god oh god oh god… 

Light. His eyes were closed, shut to the world, and there was still light. 

Oh god oh god oh god (fry my brain?) oh god oh god… 

The light was no longer physical, it was eternity. It illuminated everything and anything there ever was. Or what Liam was.

It filled him, tortured him, and burnt him till he could no longer know anything but the light. It took his conscious and showed him who he was and who he wasn't. In the chaos he saw nothing but the haze of what he knew.

It flared and he thought he would die.

OH GOD (FRY MY BRAIN!?!) OH GOD OH GOD (PLEASE NO!) OH GOD (please?) OH GOD… 

He grasped at the obscurity of his sanity and held on. Nothing and nothing but the light. Then… it stopped. 

"I knew you would make it."

Liam opened his eyes. The white wash still filled his vision but it was different, pleasant. He closed his eyes, darkness. Open, light. He was alive. Still, the ache remained like the ashes of a great flame.

"But I knew this day would come since the moment you were born."

Liam focused. There was a man there. He was dressed in a dark blue robe, his head clean-shaven and his skin was ravaged by deep wrinkles. Behind him was the limitless row of white. The man smiled lightly.

"You have a question you want to ask, don't you?" His voice showed no signs of fatigue or age.

Liam scrambled. Why was he here? Coherent thoughts were few and far between.

"Yeah," Liam said, hesitant. He swallowed. "Are you one of the Vymri Cerln?"

"I am the last," he said suddenly. "I am the guardian of the Time Stream, as you've heard." He paused, surveying the boy. He looked pleased. "You can call me Amasa, and I suppose you can call me your father."

* * * *

The plan worked, but Buffy saw no real reason why it shouldn't have. Dwayne are Linette were their names. The two who were chosen by Sinister's plan to betray their own and kill those they formerly thought of as friends. When Buffy first met them, she had to restrain herself. They killed, they fed, and they ate. Vampires weren't known to have respect for the bodies of the dead. The mutilated corpses Buffy saw were a further testament to that fact.

They were all dead, the eight of them. Caught them off guard, Linette bragged. Dwayne had nearly cut Ross (Buffy decided he must have been the leader) in half and the others were too shocked to do anything about it. They were all dead before any thought to defend themselves. Quietly, though. We aren't stupid, Linette said.

Their usefulness was apparent with the next and last patrol. They led them down the ladder and then Buffy came up with the plan.

They ran. They ran like scared children and behind them were the contorted guises of the demon enemy, running them down like a wolf to a rabbit. Buffy stayed in the back, hidden. The clean face would kill the effect.

The two didn't scream as they bolted. The mad dash said volumes.

They reached the group of defenders and rushed behind them. The crowd didn't think anything peculiar of it. Their comrades were tired and the dead were coming, eager to fight. They readied themselves for the collision but the attack began from behind. 

Three were dead before any realization hit. Killed in a glimpse of silver and a wash of blood. But the seven remaining were the last for a reason. They took action and defended themselves from both in front and behind. 

Sinister hit first and promptly bombarded the enemy with a swipe. It was blocked but he distracted the kill long enough for Majula to step alongside and take advantage of the opening. Forth to die.

The fifth came from Dwayne right before he met with the sharp end of a sword. Linette joined him as ash before the battle was done. Killed twice in one day.

Six came from the towering Ian. He rid his adversary of his arm and then of his head. Burlson was hit by the flying appendage and thus was momentarily distracted. This nearly cost him his head but the sword only traveled a half-inch deep within the soft tissue of his neck. He grabbed at the wound and fell to the floor. The battle didn't touch him again.

Seven, eight, and nine fell fast. Each toppled by their diminishing numbers and the speed and strength of the demons. Buffy slew the last. She nearly split him in two when she slashed him through his stomach. It cut through him as easily as a tender steak. The images of the night hit her again and it was all she could do to stop from vomiting. He was a human.

Buffy held her hand against her mouth and moved away from the site. From there she heard that Laney had bit the big one. Too bad, but Buffy wouldn't mourn her.

She was a vampire. 

Burlson couldn't continue for now. He was set up with the remains of one of the cleaner kills. The more blood in the body the better. He spoke a bloody, blurred message that he would come with the next group to follow. They couldn't be more than a minute behind.

No one wanted to wait for a moment. Buffy knew wouldn't mourn or even consider the fallen. She dusted herself off and walked forward, the eight vampires followed closely behind.

The walls took a change soon after, as Buffy knew they would. The memory of the place remained in her mind and dreams vividly. They turned to a smooth concrete to a broken rock. The bumps could have been dulled teeth, though Buffy occasionally spotted an acute edge. It did resemble the mouth to Hell.

We're here. The thought was mischievous, wrapped in an aura of unreality to keep her sane.

She died here.

The faded light beckoned them. Buffy wrapped her fingers around the handle to her blade almost to the point of fracture. Her sense was going off, so very close and so very dark.

The base of the walk was even, and slowly Buffy was given view to the cavern. She spotted the roof and the back wall. The light was steady and brighter than she remembered. The Master wished to hide in the beginning of their encounter, maybe they didn't?

She saw it. The wall abruptly stopped and was nullified by the circular portal that illuminated the back of the room with its growing light. Black swirls could be seen in its dirty white complexion. 

He stood before it, his arms extended as if to his arriving family. The torches illuminated his every feature. He looked fresh, fit, his mouth a beckon of joy. He looked human, but Buffy knew it wasn't so.

"Welcome," he said, his voice gay.

They stood before him. Seven of his children lined up in a rough line around the pillars and across the width of the cave. Each with his or her hands to their sides, the swords neatly fastened in the holsters slung across each soldier's waist. 

She saw Austin! He was set down in a corner at the far back. A girl with dark black hair was standing in front of him. She was brandishing her sword, serious and determined.

Jael said nothing after that. He didn't need to. His face said everything that needed to be said.

He threw his head back and then there was no doubt he wasn't human. His eyes were a blazing, glowing green and then settled back to a bright shade. His teeth were longer than any vampire Buffy had ever seen, pointed acutely to tear and rip. He was still smiling.

Dressed in his black robe, Jael waited for the first.

5

Liam stood in the abyss of never-ending light, thinking. What had the man said? His voice… there had to be more to it.

"What do you mean by that?" Liam asked the aged man.

Amasa's smile was immediate. He was pleased for some reason, but Liam couldn't see why. Maybe he's crazy? But his instincts said no. His grin was oddly comforting.

Amasa was still smiling and Liam had an abrupt thought as the man opened his mouth to speak.

Maybe he's going to offer me a lollipop? 

"I forgot how smart you are. It's nice to be talking to you again." Amasa paused, his stare at his feet. "And your suspicions are correct. I have always thought of you as my son and you have always referred to me as father but no… It is not my blood that is in your veins."

Liam felt his organs twist, jump, and shake like a rattle. "Then I knew you before?"

"I've raised you since birth so I guess you should," Amasa said, sounding like a comedic Mr. Rogers.

"Where?" Liam asked. "Here?"

"No, this is a place of higher consciousness where our kind can gather. The mortals have often referred to it as Dreamland. Though, none of them have ever been here. The journey often drives them insane and leaves their mind's barren." Amasa looked at Liam curiously, seeming to say something with his eyes. "You are a mortal but not like them. You know that."

The words struck true. "Yes."

"Your blood is different. It manifests itself in your strength, appearance, and your mind."

My mind. Amasa stared at him with a gaze that could have broken glass. At least it seemed that way to Liam. It broke through his collected facade and saw the panic retching and clawing like a rabid dog.

Amasa spoke, again proving Liam of his suspicions of the stranger's psychic ability. "You think of yourself as Angel, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Liam asked, his voice far from cracking.

"That a demon is inside you." Amasa spoke immediately after Liam ended his sentence. "That the voice will one day take control. Turn around," he instructed, gesturing only with his voice.

Liam did so and gasped. 

An invisible mirror stood a few feet away, reflecting as a mirror should. He could see Amasa, standing behind him, looking. And he could see himself. It mimicked his expression perfectly, but it was different. It was a perverted imaged.

His flesh was dead. He was rotting away as a walking zombie would have. He was a zombie. His clothes coincided with the appearance of lying in a crypt for years unknown. They too were spoiled and breaking apart by way of corrosion.

Liam felt his lips flare and caught sight of his teeth. They were the fangs he donned those short hours ago. His eyes were the same dark green, bloodshot throughout.

"This is what you imagine, isn't it? When you think of the voice."

"Yes," Liam said, and watched with fascination and horror as the image mouthed the word.

"You can hear it can't you?"

And he could. Not a sentence or anything to me fixated upon. But the blurred, monotonous chanting, slowly increasing in its might.

"Cast it away," Amasa said. His tone was stern.

"What?"

"It isn't you. Cast it away."

The voice spoke for the first time, clearly and booming through his skull.

You can't get rid of me can you? Ha! Ha! HA! HA!

The laugh was crackling and pitched. It was the taunt of the insane and Liam thought it would drive him so.

"Do you know why you lost control those months ago?" Amasa asked walking forward. Liam barely heard him through the haze of sound. "It was your first time in combat. And as any person inexperienced to fighting, you let your impulses take control. Learn from your mistakes! Don't let your darker impulses take control. Don't let the fear control your life!"

Liam felt a touch of his shoulder, Amasa's hand. The touch sent shivers through his already taut body. But it carried something. It carried itself through his body; filling him with a sensation he couldn't quiet describe. He wanted to sob.

The voice was gone, as was everything else. All he saw was the multitude of images that came in no visible timeline or order. He wanted to sob so very badly. It was he. He saw himself, as a child, teen, and then as himself today. It wasn't as memories, but as a kind of sideshow where the pictures were given life for a brief moment.

The voice…

'You have to have control. To lose control is to lose yourself.' 

'I'll try.' 

And he did, and eventually he succeeded. The voice was gone. It no longer haunted his childhood dreams and it no longer filled his day. That was 15 years ago. He, Amasa, was telling the truth.

"-id you see it?" Liam heard Amasa ask, coming out of the haze.

"Yes," Liam replied soft. The image of himself as a boy remained from the onslaught. He did it before; he could do it again.

A wordless moment later, he found the peace that had eluded him for months. Not built on knowledge, but the promise of it.

The reflection was gone and Liam turned back to Amasa. "To control your emotions was one of the first things I taught you," he said. "But things are different in the Time Stream."

"There is no fear." He knew that much from the third person memories.

Amasa nodded his wrinkled chin, and flashed his toothy smile. "Sit down," he said. "We have a lot to talk about."

* * * *

Everett stood in the shadows, hidden from those who stood at the threshold of the cavern. Jael had instructed it so and Everett saw no reason to argue. It wasn't his place and he figured there was some meaning to the action. Besides, he liked the feeling. There's no telling what you can do when you can't be seen. 

His back was pressed against the last pillar and he held his sword in a tight grip. Not far was Gabriel. She had already armed herself, as told. Her job was the most important. But if he and the others did as they trained all those months, she wouldn't have to dirty her sword with the blood of those tainted beasts.

"Welcome," Jael said and Everett could only imagine their reactions. Confusion maybe? But then maybe they'd become accustomed to the gleeful psycho?

He performed his metamorphosis and Everett watched fascinated. He'd rarely seen Jael expose his demon side in all the months in his camp. It was always a treat. He could terrify a vampire as well as a human. It was in the way he held himself, Everett supposed.

Everett heard it; a low growl carried with the help of his acute hearing. One of the vampires had changed themselves. The vampire dashed away a second later and headed down the slanted beginning of the cave. Everett smiled; he understood why he was supposed to be hidden, so close to Jael.

I guess there's a hothead in every group. 

The vampire was nearing and Everett heard nothing from the others. They wouldn't confront the vampire unless he or she attacked them first. The vampire was going for the kill. Everett suppressed the urge to laugh.

With his hand over his mouth, Everett stepped out from behind the pillar and swung his blade in a clumsy backhand. It slit open the vampire's ankle. She stumbled forward, resembling a drunk, till she tripped on the misshapen floor and landed on her stomach, scrapping the base of her palms. 

"No," she said and Jael crushed her wrist with the bottom of his foot. She screamed and released her sword in a writhing spasm. She muttered something and then Jael picked her up by the ankle, squeezing down on the wound. Everett could easily smell her blood. He held her in the air and then tossed her against the floor, like a child with a play toy. He did it again, and again. The vampire wasn't conscious anymore.

Everett watched, as they all did. There was a kind of beauty to it, he thought. The vampires probably didn't think the same. They were probably too scared to think anything.

Jael picked up the vampire again, still favoring the maimed ankle. Jael's hand was already bloodied by it. He held her for a second, like a hunter with his capture, upside down and limp as a carcass would be. He tossed her to the side and she landed a mere foot from Gabriel. She swung her blade, separating the woman's head from her neck, killing the vampire.

No more hiding. 

Everett stepped up, filling the hole that the vampire was able to dash through. He snarled and let his demon face contort and pervert his human facade. The Ecrasmau's followed, each retrieving their swords from their holsters. They growled in an animalistic fashion, biting at the air. The vampires did similar things.

In the front of the group was the Slayer. She was staring at him. She hated him, but that pleased Everett. He would kill her first. They were supposed to allow some to get past the wall but she wouldn't be one of them. She wouldn't get the chance.

From behind the original crowd, Everett saw a second arrive. More for them to kill. More amateurs trying to play with the big boys. The vampires looked at each other. No one wanted to move first. It was the Slayer who summoned up the courage. She charged forward, silently, and then they began to spar.

* * * *

It hadn't been long since Lars had met Joe and he'd already taken a shine to the man. It was probably because of the way he looked, coupled with his 'cool uncle' persona. He looked homey, a natural smile always plastered on his face, fit, but Lars thought he could take him in a fight. He was like his dad, only nicer.

"So all in all I think I've sired at least 60 vampires in my life."

"Sixty!" Lars exclaimed. "Shit, I've only sired one."

"A woman?" Joe asked, teasing.

"Yeah," Lars said and sighed as they continued to walk down the dark tunnel, "but it ended badly."

"Most of them do. They get all pissed off. 'You killed my family! You killed my friends!'" Joe said, exaggerating and mocking with his best feminine voice. "That's why you have to meet then after they're turned. No baggage."

Lars eyes peered forth. They were at the front to the group, trudging through the muck of the sewer. Nothing, not a sound or movement from the enemy since he'd killed those two girls. He wanted to fight, which was disturbing. Turning into an action junkie wasn't something he had his heart set on. It wasn't very becoming.

"Is that how you met your girl, looking for one who was already turned?" 

"Yup." Joe grinned; he looked like a man lost in a pleasant memory. "She's a peach. Been together some 80 years. She sired around 20 vamps, but a lot more of her kids are still around then mine. Guess she has a better selection process going."

"Hmmm," Lars muttered. The girl sounded all right. He had a thing for smart women. It was cool to see them mess with guys' heads. "How many of yours still around?"

Joe was silent. Lars glanced over to the man and saw that he was looking to the ceiling; he resembled a man deep in thought. "Uhhh… Two, I think. I don't know, I haven't seen Ilonka in a couple of years."

There wasn't much hope in Joe's voice, but that didn't seem to bother him. "The rest victims of the 10 year scenario?" Lars asked.

"That's right, the dreaded curse of the inexperienced," Joe grimaced. "One minute you're thinking you're king shit and the next you're killed by some rookie vampire hunter or a Slayer. Fuckin, Slayer, anyways!"

The man sounds pissed. Very pissed. 

"What did she do?" Lars asked. "I mean besides killing off several hundred of our kind. But hey, there isn't exactly a lot of love between us vampires anyway." 

"This whole alliance shit is why she didn't want to come," Joe bawled. "She didn't like the idea of working with a Slayer. She's part of a sect that forbids any sort of alliance with a human. Even when you're dead you have to have some sort of religion, I guess?" Lars thoughtfully nodded. "That's why a lot of those foreign guys don't want to come here. They think it goes against the principle of being undead. But fuck em. Western society is the real vampire society. We're the ones always getting in the Slayer's face and messing with all the Watchers. They're just a bunch of lazy asses who would rather feed off a farmer than fight for our survival." Joe paused. For a moment Lars thought he was trying to catch his breath but then he remembered… they have no breath. "Bastards, anyways!"

Lars smiled. "Nice rant."

"Well you're the one who got me going," Joe explained, chuckling slightly. "Here's another one for you. Think of how far our population must have declined in the past half year. Forget about the whole Daywalkers thing. Just think about how we haven't been able to sire anymore humans." He paused. "Well, the one's who taken this truce seriously, anyway. If you're turned into a vampire your chances of making it past the first year are 50/50. And at any given time more than half of the vampires out and about are the one's who've been turned in the past year. Add those two numbers together and you have at least 25 percent of the vampire population dead. That's a hell of a lot more than any Slayer can do on her own, even in her entire run."

Lars again nodded thoughtfully. Though, he wasn't quite sure if Joe's calculations were correct. Math was never his strong suit.

The two became silent as Joe pointed out that they were near the junction. It was the place that, according to Sinister and the Slayer, it would be likely some sort of watch group would be placed. Either way, it led downwards and that's where they wanted to go. This entire trek after the confrontation had been to make sure that no humans were hiding out and waiting for a clearing so they could make some sort of escape. Drive them deeper into the sewer and then kill them, it had a sort of poetic justice to it.

It wasn't long after that Lars smelt it, the blood. He didn't have to say anything because he knew that the rest could too. The muscles in Lars' throat tightened and they continued forward with unease. 

It was nearly a minute later it was Pistol Pete who said; "Well someone fucked up."

Lars couldn't take his eyes of the body before him. Someone had beaten them to this spot. The ladder that the remains of their two groups were supposed to use. Whoever it was, they weren't the most efficient killers in the world. The vampire that attacked this human had skimmed the eyes and bridge of this human with his sword. It wouldn't kill anybody, only cause the person to run around screaming while causing a disturbance. That's probably why they all the vampires were killed, no efficiency.

"There's only three bodies here," Joe said, observing the scene. "Guess that means the rest of them went down there."

Lars peered down the shaft. There wasn't anybody down there. But if there was, it was doubtful they would stand out in the open, waiting to be killed. A trap would be much more likely.

The three of them stood before the rest of the group, the leaders. Though, if that were the case, Pete was up in front because of a sympathy vote. The one vamp to be injured in the fight. 

Lars looked over to Joe. "What are you thinking?"

"Some nimrods showed up in town late and got themselves killed. Other than that, two things. They're down there and they'll rush out and kill the first one down. Or they went to home base and are waiting for us there."

"I think I like the second one better," Lars said heartily.

"Yeah, since you're the one who's going down first, I guess so."

Fuck. That was the first thing to come to mind for Lars. But if you're going to be a leader, I guess you can't punk out and send the wounded guy down first. 

"Yeah, well, fuck you to," Lars said. All Joe did was grin. It was sick what vampires thought was funny. But Lars couldn't think about that now. He secured his sword in his holster and started down the ladder.

6

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Amasa asked. 

"Show me all of those… memories." Liam could think of no better way to describe them.

"They are not memories. Think of them as video from a security camera, recording everything from a completely neutral perspective. As for giving them to you, it's part of what being one of the Vymri Cerln is all about. You did not focus, that's why they were jumbled." Liam opened his mouth to speak. "You'll see the rest. First, you have a question you want to ask me."

Liam felt a tingle in his stomach. He felt excited. The problems of the real world seemed to not exist. How could they? He was in Dreamland. And it was just that…like a dream. His gaze panned downward. He was sitting cross-legged across from Amasa. But there was no ground to support them, only light. If he fell, he would never hit the ground. The tingling feeling returned; heights scared him.

"What are the Vymri Cerln?" Liam asked abruptly.

"We are the guardians of the Time Stream."

What is the Time Stream? 

"The Time Stream is a nexus point where every reality that is can be reached. I know you are dealing with two realities but there is more at stake than you think. Think of every single thing that may have happened differently in your world, it's all there. Everything that may have ever happened and did is in danger." Liam asked another internal question. "Jael is a part of his reality and vice versa. When the portal Jael is conjuring is stabilized, it will become a doorway to the Time Stream and the child will become linked with it. When the child dies, the Time Stream dies. Everything that is not connected with Jael will die, every reality, everything." Amasa paused; his demeanor had become progressively dark since they started on the topic. Amasa sighed; he looked Liam in the eye. "It is our job to stop this."

Liam had decided to forego the question. Amasa knew what he wanted to ask. He would answer whether Liam spoke or not. 

"Now we, the Vymri Cerln, can't interfere in these matters directly. But once in a while a mortal's destiny will become clouded. We don't know why this is, but our job is to decide how this person can best help our cause. But we can only involve ourselves to an extent, or we risk breaking the vow."

"What's that?" Liam asked before he realized it.

"To always serve the Time Stream and abide by its rules. The vow which you yourself broke."

When? But I already know the answer don't I? Jesus! This is so surrealistic. Liam, Liam, the boy who fell from the sky. Liam, Liam, the boy who's god knows where. Liam, Liam, the boy who sees everything coming together. …But he doesn't know what the consequences are… 

Amasa continued. "When you chose to save the Slayer from the untimely death which you and I doomed her to, you broke your vow. As a result your mind was wiped clear of any memories of your past and you were exiled from the Time Stream, paradise to some." Amasa paused. "Come," he ordered.

Liam shimmied over, inching closer to Amasa. Careful. You don't want to fall. No smile came. Liam was almost knee to knee with Amasa.

"Now what?"

"Now you get what you want, your history, everything that you've ever done with your life." Amasa raised his hands to his temple. "You just have to concentrate, and with my help, it will come to you."

Liam closed his eyes and felt Amasa's fingers touch the sides of his head. He sighed and emptied the clutter of his mind.

It would be several hours before Amasa and Liam spoke again.

* * * *

Jael watched as the second group of vampires arrived. His vision of this moment changed a lot over the years. That from a group of primitives armed with sticks to the sight before him. But one thing remained the same, the sheer absence of failure. The risks in this fight were minimal. The only one who had a chance of killing him was here, under his control. A child, it was laughable.

The Slayer charged forward. She raised and swung her sword to meet with Everett's and a metallic ringing followed. The fight would be interesting.

Jael stood, mere feet from the portal, and watched the madness begin. The eight stood their ground, evenly spaced from each other. With the exception of the pillars adding a random to their original plan. But they would adapt. Nothing had been left to chance.

The most ambitions of the vampires charged forward, seven. There was one for each of his currently idle soldiers. The remaining vampires stood in a cluttered mess between the threshold and the battle line. The metallic echoes continued in a louder form. 

"AAAHHhhhh!"

Jael's eyes scanned the scene and spotted a vampire with his arm held to the sky. His hand and sword were currently headed back to the entrance. Remy brought his sword around again but only managed to cut a few inches into the vampires stomach. His feet moved to his origin while the vampire fell backwards; propelled by the jump that came a little too late. 

The vampire hit the ground and looked at the killer before him, feeling his lifeblood pumping out. But Remy didn't move in to kill. He stood and waited. The next vampire ran forward and began the assault again. The vampire turned himself over and crawled away with his good hand and bloody stump. He resembled a lizard crawling on the base of its stomach. It hadn't been 30 seconds and already two vampires were out of the fight.

Jael continued his survey of the fight. Two vampires, off to the right where Rueben and Phoebe were stationed, again proved their lack of coordination. One stepped right when he should have stepped left and collided with his comrade. A momentary distraction but it proved fatal for him. 

Phoebe took her already raised sword and swung in powerful overhand motion. It slid through his neck and continued downward, taking off the top of his shoulder. A cloud of ash appeared as his fallen body neared the ground. The female vampire had better luck and managed to block Rueben's similar attack, sword raised nearly chin height. Again, another vampire rushed forward to take the dead's place.

That's it! Use their numbers against them. Make the environment work for you. 

Jael spotted him earlier but only now had he made his move. A singular vampire, alone by himself, looking of a man who was about to piss in his boss' coffee. To simplify, he looked nervous. 

He ran forward and while doing so, threw his shoulder into the back of one of his fellow vampires. The vampire flew forward and slid, like a stick of butter, into Santo's blade. Santo reacted instantaneously and twisted the sword 90 degrees; the vampire released a muffled pain. Santo then yanked the sword to his right. The vampire was nearly cut in half. 

Santo took no time to glance around. He stepped forward and swung the sword again, this time aiming for the vampire's neck. An ugly screech shot through the cave as the blade hit the rock briefly. The vampire, looking like a cracked toothpick, exploded into a pile of ash. 

Santo looked around and saw that the vampire that sacrificed the other was already past him, running against the wall. He took no mind on the matter. He could already hear the brisk footfalls from behind.

Jael saw the vampire steadying himself to attack Santo. He didn't get the chance. Jael, moving more like a blur than a being, already had his hand around the vampire's wrist. He squeezed and felt the vibrations of the bone cracking. The vampire opened his mouth to scream but instead felt Jael's fist collide with his jaw, dislocating it. The vampire fell limp from the pain but was supported by Jael's awesome grip. He felt one more backhand across his face and then became unconscious.

Jael tossed him upwards, again aiming for the area before Gabriel. The vampire sailed with the grace of a kite and then hit like a boulder. Gabriel completed the routine by decapitating the vampire. It wasn't part of the original plan but she deserved to have some fun too. 

The small baby, wrapped in a giant blanket against the wall, managed to continue sleeping. He hadn't awoken once since he fell asleep following the ritual.

Jael was back at his base, his eyes still scanning the fight. This was going to be so, soooooo fun.

* * * *

Liam opened his eyes. How long was he there… that place? It felt like his entire lifetime. It was his entire lifetime. He'd lead quite an uneventful life hadn't he? Nothing really more then spending time with Amasa, whether it was training, reading, or meditating. It was the life of a monk. But still, there wasn't really a bad memory in the lot. It was a happy, content life.

"I don't get it?" Liam asked.

"Get what?"

"In those…memories, you told me, repeatedly, that I was your son. That we were the last of the Vymri Cerln."

"But just a few hours ago I told you that we are not related."

"A FEW HOURS AGO!!!" Liam exclaimed, springing off the invisible floor to his feet. "A few hours! Why aren't we dead? The battle should have ended by now!"

"Sit down," Amasa said.

"Bu-"

"Sit down!" Amasa said, sternly.

Liam looked at the man peculiarly, as if to search for the madness behind this order. Amasa couldn't look calmer. There was no smile on his face, like before, only a slight annoyance, residue of the command basked in sanity. Liam sat down.

Amasa began again. "As you know, there are some things that I never told you. One of them is this; we too have destinies. The Time Stream is not outside the laws of them."

Them? 

"Who's that?"

Amasa sighed deeply, looking for the first time like an old man. "All I know is that we do what we're supposed to, whether we want to or not." Amasa held the base of his palm against his forehead. He moved his hand against his chin and squared out the fingers and thumb. "Watch this." Amasa moved his hand as a magician would have, quickly and without hesitation, gliding upward across his face. It was quite a trick indeed.

"Jesus," Liam whispered.

"Time had no meaning in the Time Stream," Amasa said, looking 40 years younger. The etched lines in his face were gone, replaced by a smooth texture. Amasa repeated the trick, this time running his hand from temple to chin. He was an old man again. "I only age when I want to."

"Jesus," Liam repeated.

"Now don't be fooled," Amasa said. "We may not be in the Time Stream, but the rules for the Vymri Cerln are very similar between the two realms."

Liam panicked, but he couldn't see why. "What do you mean?" he asked breathlessly.

"An example, you can go home this instant and it can be as if you never left. Or five minutes if you want. Five years even. It really has no limit." Amasa paused. His gaze shifted from Liam to the emptiness and then back again. "Do you know how you got that book? The one that brought you here."

"Giles had it."

"Yes, but how did Giles come to possess such a valuable book? It's over 3000 years old and nearly in perfect condition. How did Giles have such a valuable book and not even realize it?" Liam had no answer. "It's because a rich Chinese collector met a man. A man who knew things about him that no man should. A strange man who told him to send one of his most prized possessions to a man named Rupert Giles, no strings attached." Amasa raised his hand to Liam's forehead. "Think of that moment."

Liam closed his eyes and did so. "It's you." 

"That's right. His destiny was also clouded." Amasa paused. "I went to see him shortly after you left to save the Slayer. Giles received the book a day before you arrived in Sunnydale." Liam opened his eyes, wide. "He simply forgot about it in the commotion of the Ecrasmau's arrival."

The thought rang like an apocalyptic bell. Jesus Christ. 

"You… You…"

"Like I said, time has no meaning in the Time Stream. Only rather than just witnessing, you can partake."

Liam beamed, throwing his fists to the air. "Well that's it then! You can travel through time!" he screamed. "You can go back and tell Buffy all this before I went and saw her! We can save Oz! We can stop Austin from ever being kidnapped! We can stop all this from-"

"No."

"No?" Liam paused. "What do you mean? You can stop all this from ever happening. We can defeat Jael-" 

"You cannot defeat Jael," Amasa assured, "not by conventional methods. If you cut off his leg it will come back instantaneously. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep; his body is tuned to perfection." Amasa's eyes softened, like a father's. "The plan you have in place right now…it's the only way."

An obscenity formed on Liam's lips, but he suppressed it. He wanted to punch something, to rip it apart, but there was nothing to destroy. He considered kicking the ground but the nagging thought of falling through kept him from doing so. In the end he bit his own lip. The blood from the tear leaked into his mouth and touched his tongue. It was bitter.

SONOFABITCH! 

"Then I go back," Liam said and then spat out the soiled saliva from his mouth. It fell forever.

"Not just yet. I have one last thing to show you." Liam stepped up and Amasa followed. He spoke with Liam, pacing to and forth, never meeting his stare. "The reason you're here is that I want you to understand why this is happening. I want you to accept it and no just go along grudgingly. I cannot change anything but this much I can offer you." Amasa caught his gaze. "Peace is the only thing I can offer you."

Liam stopped walking, his chin hanging near his chest. "What do you want to show me?"

"I'm going to show you the future."

7

That was a good idea. Wish I'd thought of it. 

Who was dead already? Sophie had been the first to die and in an unflattering way too. Then The Dude. He nearly spilled his guts all over the ground and now he was… Sinister threw a glance back at the entrance. He was bleeding out all over the threshold. And then it was the idiot who bumped into Steff. This latest guy, though, he went with some style and grace. It was time for Sinister to do the same, without the being killed part tacked at the end.

Sinister walked over from his spot in the corner and over to Ian. The man was revving to go. He wore his anticipation blatantly. It was as visible as his demonic features. 

"Ian."

Ian looked at Sinister with his buttery gold eyes and then back to the fight. "I'm waiting," he said. "I'm not interested in the pups. I want the big dog over there."

Sinister followed Ian's gaze and saw the man who called himself Jael. He was behind the line. He held no sword but still killed the vampire (Sinister never bothered to learn his name) with such brutal ease. To kill him was a true challenge.

"Want to help me get him?"

Ian looked at Sinister, studying his face, and then back to the line. The fight along it was rigid. No one dared to move more than two paces from the spot they planted for themselves. Parry, thrust, parry, thrust… It was the most boring epic battle of all time.

"What do you want?"

"A distraction," Sinister said plainly. He then stepped up on the tips of his toes and laid out his plan to the man's ear.

Sinister lined himself up. It was a clear run along the wall with the exception of the Daywalker blocking the way. It would be Ian's job to temporarily clear it. His sword was strapped into his holster. He placed his hand against his side and felt the object Buffy kept for him was also in place. 

A shotgun blast to the face should put this guy off. 

Ian swooped around, coming against the wall, and then progressed towards the Daywalker. As he neared he raised his sword up and over his shoulder. It came down in a lightning slash. The Daywalker pulled his sword back from his previous block and stopped Ian's blade. The Daywalker then threw his blade in a gaping circle and both Ian and the vampire leapt back. The shirt of the other vampire was slit open before his stomach. The Daywalker only caught sight of the bolting vampire at the last moment. Sinister jumped forward, looking like a sprung missile, and flew past the wall of soldiers.

Sinister hit the rock and managed to roll with it, hunched into the fetal position. Before the momentum was gone he was back on his feet. The Daywalker protecting Austin was only a few meters away, looking at him intently. Sinister's hands were ready if they had to defend. 

He turned to Jael. 

Fuck me. 

Jael wasn't far from the portal. He stared at him, a thin smile on his face, and began to walk forward. Sinister kept his hands at his sides and walked to meet him. There was a trench of water close. There wouldn't be a lot of room to maneuver him into the portal. 

Jael stopped and Sinister did also. If Sinister could read faces he would said that Jael's told him to spoil the fucking pleasantries and take your shot. 

Sinister reached for the double barrel shotgun placed in a neat holster inside his jacket. He quickly unclipped it and pulled out the sawed off with his single hand. Jael didn't flinch when Sinister stepped forward and shot off his face.

The faceless body stumbled backward and Sinister followed. He pushed himself forward and threw all his weight behind his foot, extended towards Jael's chest. It hit his ribcage and Sinister could have sworn that there was a metal plate underneath his robes. The faceless man didn't move back anymore. 

Jael grabbed the outstretched limp and snapped with the flex of his hand. In the synapse of pain Sinister saw movement in the eyes that were dead just a second ago. The red flesh and bone seemed to be moving like a nest of maggots. Jael's free hand grabbed at Sinister's throat and squeezed, though, not to the breaking point. 

Fuck. He has no fucking face. 

His thoughts turned to a blinding terror when he felt a pressure on his arm. The gun moved up and to the right, his fingers still locked in and around the trigger shell. Jael moved it till the barrel was pressed into the soft tissue under Sinister's chin, aimed to the dead of his skull. Sinister felt his finger pull on the trigger.

The second gunshot didn't cause much of a disturbance with the fighters, as the first didn't. Those few who were not occupied were treated to an unholy site. Still caught in the suspended grip of Jael, the head of Sinister imploded and then threw its contents topside, rupturing as a geyser would. His limbs went into spasm and then limp, blood pouring from the cavity with the torn flesh hanging in and around like ribbons. 

Jael threw Sinister's limp body into the pool a few feet away. He hit and slipped into the water, swaying gently in its murk until he hit the bottom. He was still visible in the water, it being less than knee deep, and his finger's still clasped to the shotgun.

Jael touched his face. It was back to normal.

From the front of the cave he heard a scream.

* * * *

Amy watched as the flicker of light grew to something the size of a basketball. With its growth in size, in grew brighter. Her hands came up on instinct, shielding her eyes from the cascade as best they could. At least the climax equaled the build up.

From behind the mask Amy saw that Willow was doing the same. Her eyes were squinted like those of a walleyed elder. Amy couldn't see Liam; the ball of light was directly in her to viewing. She couldn't see how he was reacting to it.

In the final second the light grew to its zenith, casting black shadows of the standing objects against the walls, and then disappeared. Amy felt a mild relief and then felt a thunderous panic fill the chambers of her heart. Willow had fainted.

Amy rushed off her chair and pressed her hand to Willow's face. Jesus! I'm sorry… Shouldn't have- She felt warm. Amy moved her hand to Willow's throat. A pulse! Too much too soon… Amy leaned over Willow and stumbled for the call button, placed on the night stand on the opposite side of the bed. 

"Don't."

Amy stopped. Her gaze panned slowly to her right, not really knowing what to expect. Though, she didn't really know why. She saw Liam. He was massaging his eyes and slightly hunched over. It looked as if he just awoke from a deep sleep.

"Don't," repeated, sounding more forceful. He straightened himself and met Amy with a deep stare. "She needs her sleep." His gaze softened as he looked on Willow. "She's had a rough day." 

"You did it?" It was Angel. He looked at Liam with a certain kind of awed questioning. His stance had significantly tensed since Amy last took note of him.

Liam looked at Angel. "Yes," he said and immediately his gaze went back to Willow. His gaze was sorrowed. Amy couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

"What was it like?" Angel asked.

Liam didn't say anything, at first. His limps looked to from a word and then began to treble. He then rested his chin on his clenched fists and Amy watched a shudder travel through his body. "It was like a dream," he said, voice trembling. 

"Did you learn anything?" Angel's voice and demeanor looked and sounded like he didn't much like asking questions and felt foolish for it.

"Nothing that can help us," Liam choked out. "Nothing at all," he whispered.

Angel looked to Amy, worried. "She's okay," she managed to say. 

Angel nodded and then didn't know what to do with himself. A nervous anxiety was written on him. To quote her mother, he looked like a rabbit about to hit a boiling pot.

"I'm going…to help Buffy," he finally said. "You stay here…I'm going."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Liam's eyes widen. "No you're not."

"What?"

"You can't go, Angel," Liam said and turned to face him. "You have to stay here."

Angel's face tightened. He didn't like the tone of Liam's voice. "Why?" he asked. There was no egotism in his voice.

"Because you can't," Liam said, sternly. "You have to stay here!"

Angel's eyes wandered, his mind searching for an answer to this rational. He seemed to find his answer.

"She's in trouble isn't she."

"Yes, but-"

Angel was already headed for the door and faster than Amy's eye could track Liam was in his path. Her eyes caught sight of his, though. They had grown to a dark green.

* * * *

Buffy heard a vampire scream from somewhere behind her. For a momentary instant, her mind filled with thoughts of the scream and its implications.

It was Burlson, had to be. His voice, it had the same kind of naïve innocence that made him somewhat more tolerable than the rest of the monsters. Also, there was the timing. She had just caught sight of Sinister's brains being shot upward like a plate of spaghetti. Again the urge to vomit came and went. If she got through this there would be plenty of time to go over the horrors of this night. Every killing, every drop of blood…

Buffy shuffled her feet and adjusted her weighting to meet this next attack. It was a low, underhand chop. Buffy twisted her wrists, angling the sword downward, and met the blade. A slick, metallic ring ran after that and disappeared among the echoes of similar noise. 

How long had she been doing this? Couldn't be more than two minutes. The third, and last, group hadn't arrived yet. She adjusted her feet within the few meters of space she'd given herself and threw a feint at Everett's ( Is that what Spike said his name was? ) side. He blocked and rebutted. 

Without room to maneuver how long could this go on? Till the exhaustion takes hold, she guessed. Something would give, though. It had to.

That something was Burlson. His hand still clenched at his seeping neck, he reached for the Glock placed in the strap running along his belt, at the center of his back. He painfully swallowed and fumbled for the safety. 

"Kill you," he mumbled and emptied the chamber with his first shot. The sound of the ricocheting bullet followed the exploding gunpowder. He missed. He again swallowed and tried poising his trembling hand. He pulled the trigger again.

Jael heard the sound of the missed bullet and the next. The vampire didn't have much of an aim but his acute hearing told him that he was nearing. The third bullet hit his leg. Jael barely winced. The next few were a mixed batch, hitting nothing from puncturing his chest. The wounds healed almost instantaneously. The last bullet hit his right temple and Jael felt the bullet exiting out of the back of his skull. Again, it healed.

"Gabriel," Jael called and laid his hand out. The stake was passed and he threw it with a deadly precision. Not before Burlson emptied his clip, though.

Buffy heard the whiz of a bullet, only a few inches from her ear. Everett's eyes wandered and widened. 

Damn it! Idiot, Burlson! 

Burslon fired three more times. The first struck Adabasi, tearing through his stomach. There was a momentary pause and Adabasi hunched himself over, holding his wound with his free hand. The last two bullets rocketed over him, and hit Brendan twice. Once on his inward thigh and the other grazing his scalp. Brendan stumbled back.

Fuck, Everett mouthed threw a wild swing at Buffy. She avoided it. 

Burlson pulled on the trigger again. Empty. He dropped the weapon just as the stake entered his heart. The gun was the only thing left of the vampire a second later.

Everett moved in front Brendan, shielding him from the vampires. Buffy stepped forward and hacked madly at Everett. The Daywalker had a hard time blocking it. She progressed forward and cut at him again, this time aiming for his legs. Everett jumped and when planting his feet, lost his gripping on the uneven surface. Brendan was nearing composure, feeling the wad of wet hair in a dazed state. 

Buffy slashed at him, her aim true. The tip her sword ran through the meaty flesh and veins of Everett's throat. A look puzzlement came across his face as the slit began to bleed out. The red and black soon covered the entire bottom half of his neck. 

Adabasi rushed forward and joined the assault. He raised his sword and brought it down in a huge, perfectly vertical arc. Everett's arm, grasping the blade, was separated from the shoulder on.

A gurgling cry was all Everett could muster. Adabasi couldn't care less. He walked past Everett and set his sights on the confused Daywalker. Adabasi twisted his blade and threw another half circle. Brendan raised his sword, but not before he was decapitated. His bloodied head ran against the base of the pillar and then disappeared.

"Not so easy, asshole," Buffy whispered. He was weakening. His joints wobbled like an old man. She would just have to help him stay up wouldn't she?

She slid her sword into his stomach, keeping the dull side upward, until the handle hit flesh. She was standing nearly eye to eye with the man.

"Slayer?" Everett said, barely beyond recognition in a washed whisper.

Buffy said nothing. Her face was nothing but cold determination.

She jerked the sword up and felt the load heavy as Everett's legs went completely flaccid. His eyes rolled back into their sockets. She twisted her legs, now facing the front of the cavern, and pushed forward. He slid off the sword and rocketed upward for a moment before hitting the hard rock. 

The remaining vampires, three counted Buffy, descended onto him like a pack of vultures. They hacked and slashed at the man well past the point of no movement. The Daywalkers continued fighting and never once made an attempt to save him. Not even Annie.

A hole was now in the line. Buffy, Adabasi, and Ian stepped through it.

8

There was chaos all around Lars. So much blood… The swords collided just a few inches from his face, scraping and screeching as he and the human pushed. The sparks lit the darkness and then disappeared. He supposed it could symbolize the hope he once felt.

The human jumped back and Lars momentarily lost him among the figures. The tunnel was crowded; humans and vampires alike lining its insides. The only vampire he recognized was Pistol Pete. He was standing beside Lars and was currently in a face-off with another human, their blades locked. The rest he couldn't make out in the haze of violence. It was surreal, everywhere he looked there was someone fighting.

The human charged him again, swinging his blade as he did. 

Have to time this perfectly. 

Lars threw his blade outward, hitting the human's and driving both towards the wall. The human's momentum kept and Lars rushed forward to meet him. The swords hit the concrete and a clang followed. Lars already had his hand around the human's neck and was opening his mouth.

"AAAAAHHH!"

Blood was running down his lips, chin, and then his neck. The guy was a gusher. A brief grunt escaped the suffocation of flesh and Lars continued to clamp down, his teeth tearing back and forth as the human struggled to get free. Lars' body jerked one more time, sinking his teeth deeper into the man's throat. The human went limp.

Fuckin' blood. 

Lars dropped the body and let a moment pass to study himself. A dull wind was in the tunnel. It struck his neck, hitting the vast layer of blood and chilling the flesh beneath. Other than that he was alright. 

Pete! 

Lars raised his sword and slashed in a slanted arc, aiming for the human whose back was nearly adjacent to his. He stopped just as the blade burrowed itself deep into the human's back. He didn't want to cut Pete. 

Pete took advantage and promptly impaled the human with his sword. Both vampires retrieved their weapons from the man's body. The man stood and then collapsed, his eyes still open. 

"Thanks," Pete said.

"No p-" But Lars was cut off when he saw Pete's head severed from the neck up. It didn't have a chance to roll off before it, and the rest of his body, disappeared in a cloud of ash and dust. As it settled Lars saw the human who killed Pete. She looked weary, tired. Dried blood had set on her forehead. Lars felt no pity.

"Screw you, bitch," Lars said and then a thin whistle skimmed the air. The horizontal arc of his sword ended shortly after it cut through the woman's neck, sending her head flying like a baseball knocked off a stand. Her body slouched and then fell forward, hitting the ground in the order of knees then chest.

"Screw you," Lars repeated.

He stopped moving, thinking, and let his instincts take control, anticipating the next attack. Nothing came. He glanced around and noticed that the fight around him had thinned out. There were a few figures behind him but the bulk lay before him. The steady echoing of the battle came to him in a washed sound. He also noticed another thing, he was thirsty. The gusher hadn't quenched his appetite, only teased it. 

Damn it. Where's Gatorade when you need it? 

A break, that's what he needed. They'd been fighting virtually nonstop since the group had made it down the ladder and come across the first real battle. It was where they'd all gone, the humans. The leftover and the ones who'd just chickened out and decided to head for home. It was this tunnel, the main one, that would take them to victory.

Now the battle was moving like a river, slowly etching closer and closer to the Master's lair. But with each foot it moved another soldier fell. Their numbers would probably be nothing before they finally reached the Daywalkers. 

Fuck it. I'm going to eat. Then I'm going to find Joe and Robin. 

He'd lost enough friends to the fight already. He had to cling to the ones remaining. 

They were up there somewhere.

* * * *

Xander couldn't believe how long he was held captive down there. Seemed like hours but he knew it was closer to a half-hour or so. He could have been in and out in five minutes. That is, if Ira hadn't awoken. First there was manners. Actually, it all had to do with being polite. You don't walk out when a man has just woken up after a mild heart attack. His Mom would have his hide.

After the event of having him wake, doctors entering and leaving, assessing his condition, there came the questions. What happened? Who was that guy? How's Willow? Then the real big questions came. Vampires?! How long? Since when? Really- It was enough to drive a man crazy.

Is that how me and Willow were, when we first found out about them? 

How long had it been since he'd been introduced to the world of the undead? Almost three years, give or take a few months. Since then he'd been almost killed more times than he could count. 

I'm lucky I'm alive. How many people have died that I've talked too, at one time or another? 

Again, another figure he'd lost count of.

Now here he was. A guy who managed to worm his way out of the grasp of the well-meaning clutches of the parents! And he left another well-meaning friend there to answer their inquiries. Poor Giles, he'd head back down after relaying the message that Ira's awake and try to spring him. That or just take his place. He'd keep them enthralled with his tales of suspense. Xander Harris, the guy whom once almost got turned into a fish. Could have been a children's book, if written properly.

Xander was now marching down the hallway, his footfalls bringing the only immediate sound to his ears, nearing Willow's room. She'd frightened off the nurses, Willow. They barely came by since 'the incident' and only for the most rudimentary things. It wasn't service with a smile; service out of debt, guilt. Xander doubted if any other patient was allowed to have as many visitors as she'd received this single night. 

Xander opened the door to Willow's room.

"Hey, sports-" Xander stopped. His eyes glossed over the scene in an impartial silence. 

They were all sleeping, except Liam. 

Liam? And Amy? When did they get here? 

They were sleeping? Amy hunched over with her head resting comfortably on the bed and Angel lying on the floor. He was wrapped up in his trench coat, covered with it like a soft blanket. Strangely enough they both had pillows underneath their heads. Sitting on the floor was Liam; the laptop set on the floor before him, looking intently at the screen. His eyes did not wander up when Xander entered the room.

"What happened?"

No response.

"What happened!?" 

Liam's eyes ventured up. They looked indifferent. He closed the laptop and rose to his feet, never taking his eyes of Xander. Xander unconsciously stepped a foot back.

"If I start you'll keep me here with your questions longer than I can afford," Liam said, flatly. "It's all in the note." His and Xander's eyes drifted to the laptop. Liam sighed. "Make sure no one alters it, please." To Xander it sounded more like an order than a request.

Liam moved forward, stepping over Angel, and came toward the door. Xander moved to his side and Liam kept his gaze forward. Halfway through the door he paused. A thought seemed to have caught him. Xander watched as Liam's eyes danced over the plain door on the opposite side of the hall.

Finally he said, "You're alright, Xander. Make sure she's okay...after this." And then Liam walked out and into the hallway. Xander didn't see if he turned to look back or not.

Xander was back at Willow's side. He felt at her neck and then Amy's. They were okay. He grabbed for the call button and pressed it in frenzy. Only later did he remember the message that waited in the computer. 

* * * *

Buffy moved past the pillars, the Daywalkers, those who were to distract and nothing else. There were only six of them now, free to fight him. Those who decided to torture Everett she could do without. For now it was good to know that they were out of the way and he was getting his. 

There was nothing but open spaces for them to fight in, and four of them to do the actual fighting. Adabasi, a man who'd slaughtered a few villages in his day according to rumor, Ian, someone who showed himself to be a pro in this day, and the man himself, Jael. 

Buffy moved to the left, towards Gabriel, while Ian flanked to the right and Adabasi went straight up the middle. Each held their blade straight in front and walked with caution. Ian rounded the slope where Sinister lay, while Adabasi walked the side of the downward crest, splashing the water. Jael stood where he always did, his hands at his side and watching nothing but still seeing each. Gabriel stared at the Slayer, the baby behind her.

Adabasi was the first to the floor. Buffy watched him as he dashed forward and swung an overhand feint at Jael. The blade came down and would, if threw from the proper distance, cut the man in half, neck to groin. The deadly hiss of the slit air came to all's ears and Adabasi continued forward. Jael did nothing, not until the attacker was only a few feet away. He raised his arm and Buffy though he would soon be missing a limb. A metallic clang followed the hiss. Jael smiled.

"Don't underestimate a well placed piece of steel," he said as the blade screeched along the titanium brace hidden under the cloth. Jael pushed himself forward; the pressure between the two sheets of metal caused them to scream and spark. With the brisk move, Adabasi found his grip loosening and found another, stronger, grip around his arm, right below the elbow. A snap was heard and then a scream.

The blade fell to the ground and Jael's tangled hold on the limp didn't falter. While stepping forward, he threw his other hand, open faced, in a horizontal curve. The attacker hit Adabasi square in the chest, at the base of the ribcage. He immediately buckled.

Jael wasn't finished. While keeping pressure on the fractured limb, he seized Adabasi behind the neck and pushed down as he swung up his own knee. Adabasi's head snapped up after colliding with the joint. He began to bleed, gushing, from his nose.

Buffy and Ian had come to a stop. They were too far to stop this onslaught that took place in a matter of seconds. Buffy saw, under the torn cloth, the plank strapped to Jael's arm. It was glistening thanks to the illumination of the portal.

Adabasi found his neck once again possessed by Jael. Without much effort Jael tossed Adabasi to his right. He flew in a horizontal line until Gabriel stepped forward and cut the man down. The two remaining pieces, cut at the waste, turned to ash as they collided with the wall.

Now. 

Buffy leapt forward and Ian did the same. She struck high and Ian struck low. Jael adjusted his arms accordingly and the familiar ringing doubled. Jael cartwheeled forward and turned back to face the duo. He held his arms like they too were blades, moving them in a gentle rotation, ready to defend or attack. Buffy and Ian exchanged a glance and then rushed forward.

Their blades flashed in a silver blur. Jael didn't have any problem tracking each attack and wove a defensive wall that blocked each slash. In a few seconds the fabric on Jael's arms was shredded, ripped with strands hanging about. 

Jael kept moving. Whether to his right, left or backwards. 

Buffy sidestepped to her right and slashed again, no luck. Her blade rebounded and she readied her next strike. Ian was in the midst of his. His blade swung from nearly over his right shoulder, heading 45 degrees, rocketing downward. Jael ducked and barely avoided the blade. The next thing Buffy saw was Jael's fist charging her from his downed position.

Though the hit only grazed the bottom of her chin, it was enough. Her neck snapped back and she was catapulted upward, spiraling backwards as she did. The dizziness and agony added an odd element to the suspended feeling. She landed on her stomach only a meter away, her check slapping the hard rock. Her sword was still in her hand.

Her thoughts weren't focused. Nothing was. She only knew that she hurt. Her face, bleeding from a scrape caused by a jagged edge on the ground, and especially her chin and its surroundings. Her chest throbbed too, though, only slightly in comparison.

She expanded her attention, trying to focus on anything but herself. There was noise, a constant ringing and grunting. It was close. She tried to turn her neck but ended up pivoting herself on the rock. Her head ached too much.

It was Ian. Jael was driving him to the back of the cavern. Ian swung his blade as he stepped back, scurrying. Jael slapped it aside and continued forward. From Buffy's perspective, they were beginning to eclipse the portal. She, aching, moved to her feet.

Ian kept walking back. If he stopped, Jael would simply run into him and kill him. He had that look. Nothing is going to stop me, it said. But when his eyes glanced on the floor, he could see the shades of light and his pale shadow standing within the dance. He was being driven into the portal, the killer of killers.

Hell with this, Ian thought and raised his sword over his head, gripped with both hands. Jael continued forward. Ian swung his weapon and hoped the blade would split the man's head in half. He didn't.

Jael clapped his hands together, catching the sword in mid swing. He smiled and the blade shattered. The later half fell to the floor and Jael kept his clasp on the remaining half sword. Ian's mouth hung in awe.

"Oh…"

The clasped fingers shot forward the blade did the same. The blade pivoted in the grip but remained in, falling out of Ian's fingers. The next thing he felt was the base of the grip hitting his forehead and being cut down the center, thanks to the slightly protruding blade.

"Damn it," Ian mumbled as he stumbled back. The hit disoriented him more than it hurt. But the gash running up his temple disturbed him. He could feel the blood running down the surface of his skin already.

Jael twisted the blade upward and caught it by the handle. It was quite a trick. Ian's eyes grew wide as he saw what Jael was going to do with it.

Agony exploded in Ian's stomach as the jagged blade entered his soft stomach, the tip visible from the other side. A new wave hit as Jael jerked the sword in and up. Ian was no longer standing on his feet. Jael held him like a pig on a stick. All strength was sapped from Ian. He did nothing but dwell on the pain. 

Jael tossed him into the portal and the scream was deafening, agonized. It swallowed him instantly but still the scream could be heard. It sounded like the portal itself was wailing. 

Buffy kept walking with as much discretion as possible. Jael was still facing the portal. This was it. She could ram him into it. Still, if he were as fast as he was strong he would be able to dodge her charge without effort. She had to wait till the distance between them was minimal. 

She crept forward, her grip on her sword tight. And then, without warning, Jael began to turn back to face her.

Shit! Buffy charged forward. It was all she could do. She couldn't face him, alone. Ian, Adabasi, Sinister, Sophie, they all did and what happened to them?

But Jael was fast. Already he was out of the line, the line from Buffy to the portal. Even if the odds were against her, she had to attack. She raised her sword…

The she swung the blade hoping to rid him of his head. Unfortunately she cut off his fingers instead. She pulled back the sword as Jael gazed at his hand, gone from below the first joint. His impartial stare turned to anger when it set on her. She threw her weapon again.

Jael extended his hand in a flash and caught one of her wrists. The pain ran through the limb and Buffy found the sword drop from her grip. Her mouth formed a mute scream. 

"There are a few things I like to break on my opponents, Slayer," Jael said. Buffy's wrist snapped she screamed, not hearing the man. "I like to break their wrists, as you've just seen. And their kneecaps, but that's mostly during torturing." Jael released her and caught her again, this time by the neck. "I love to break necks, though," he said, grinning. "The sound is magical to me."

"Screw you," Buffy said. Jael raised her off the floor and tightened his grip.

"I'll so love killing you, Slayer." He looked to his fingers, growing rapidly, and then back at Buffy. "You actually hurt me, you know that? The one in the water hurt me but I wanted it. I wanted to show you what I can do."

Buffy made a gurgling sound as he squeezed. She was no longer receiving air. This is it, she thought. But the choking receded and air partially filled her lungs.

"I got an idea," Jael whispered. Buffy felt a chill as she watched him bite off the fleshy fingers and spit them aside. "Drink up," he said and pushed the stubs into her mouth. 

9

The entrance to the hospital was hectic when Liam walked out. He stopped, breathed in the air, and looked around. He had to…it was part of the script.

An ambulance had just pulled into the lot, and from the sounds of the distant wailing siren another was following. Doctors and nurses rushed past him, seeming to not see him. Like he was a shadowy phantom sent to retrieve the souls of soon to be departed. That brought a cryptic smirk to his face. He did feel like a ghost and was pretty sure he looked like one. He caught a glimpse of himself on his way down. And though he already knew what he'd see, it still shocked him. 

He was pale; a ghostly white that was only shades from transparent. He was sure that his previously black hair had also taken a walk down the whitening trail. It was the shock. The burden of knowing what few ever knows; his or her own destiny. 

The ambulance door flew open and the medics lowered the stretcher out. The patient being cared for was one Michael Philips. He was going to die. Liam knew this because he'd seen it numerous times before. He'd lost track of the number after the first few hours of watching. Not just viewing Michael, but everything in and around Sunnydale. Every moment until _it._

_It_ was the title of the moments, the actions that he would directly invoke and witness. _It_ was his destiny; his and everybody else's who dared to involve themselves in this battle. _It_ kept him sane. To think of _it_, to acknowledge what was going to happen and all it's repercussions, to give _it_ a title that directly correlated to his actions would be too much. 

It was better to just let his subconscious whisper _it_s name. The dubbing of the ritual by god know who? 

You're thinking about this too much, man. Just stick to the script. 

He'd also come to think of it all as a movie, scripted out and acted with meticulous care. Michael Philips wasn't really going to die. He was acting. His son wouldn't be sent back to live with his abusive mother in Ohio. The woman in the other ambulance, Marsha Odet, won't have her leg amputated from the knee down. Their cars never crashed on the outskirts of town. It was fake.

Time for Marsha's shot. 

The doors to the second ambulance were opened and an unconscious Marsha was unveiled. Right on time.

Liam began to walk again, leaving the scene behind him. Ahead was nothing but concrete and empty streets. But he knew the quiet wouldn't last. _It_ had to begin.

He closed his eyes and began the chant. He spoke it like a poem that had to be uttered within a time limit, hushed and rapidly. The thought of the unending verse sucking the wind out of him crept up and chilled him. But it wouldn't happen. He was human and he wasn't, the air in his lungs would keep.

He kept walking, now on the sidewalk, eyes still closed. A manhole was further up, his destination. He could see it without looking. He knew his path perfectly and walked it without hesitation. The sound of a woman screaming entered his ear. The footfalls came next. He kept on speaking his unorthodox rhyme with his eyes still closed.

The man was running down the street. He was a human; a purse clung to in his left hand. The woman he stole it from was lying with her back against the brick wall in the alley he emerged from. Her face was a bruise and blood ran down her nostrils and cheeks. Liam kept on walking.

Liam supposed the man kept on his path because he didn't appear to be a threat. A man marching down the street and talking to his self, lost in his own mind. An oddity in a town filled with them.

The sound of the pounding pavement was nearly on top of him. But Liam could tell anybody of the nearing presence with deaf ears. 

As the man past him, Liam raised his hand. His fingers were all but limp, loosely plied together. They looked set to receive a high five, but in reality something much worse. They came up and grazed the man's neck, just below the adam's apple. The result was immediate and graphic.

The man died; flesh burnt, brains boiled, bones melted. A sheik briefly escaped his combusting body before he left nothing but ashes on the sidewalk. The man died as a vampire died.

The purse hit the ground with a flat plop, the only tangible evidence of the man's demise. Liam walked on. The entrance wasn't far now.

* * * *

The Slayer was dying… Jeffery was sure of it. He was as sure of it as he was that his own demise was nearing. Though, it would be a relief. His stomach was a giant welt of pain, stabbing at him every time he attempted to move from his place on the rock floor. No, The Dude was not having a good day.

No more of that shit. I was born Jeffery and I'll die Jeffery. 

He was lying on the floor, his cheek kissing the ground while the gash in his stomach slowly closed itself. The brown rock was receiving a free red buffing, courtesy of Jeffery's blood supply. It was indeed a bad day. 

"Slayer," Jeffery called out in a whisper. If the sound carried to her ears she didn't acknowledge it or it wasn't allowed to register. She was on the slanted ground a few feet from him, the area between them a path for arriving vampires. She was drenched in sweat, her hair a damp clump pressed against her head. She continued to roll back and forth spastically, writhing in the pain that Jael inflicted on her. At least he thought it was Jael. Who else would turn a Slayer in the midst of a fight?

Another scream echoed through the hall. A vampire? Jeffery couldn't say for certain. One Daywalker had been killed following the Slayer's attack. A "yeah" and "right on" following a wailing death cry told him so. Other than that it was all vampires. The third wave had thinned out and now one's and two's of other groups trickled into the fight. Their success was limited.

Everyone who traveled with him here was dead, even that English punk who was driving and his girlfriend by the sound of it. "Spike!" she cried out a few minutes ago. And then she was cut down. 

Now it was himself and the Slayer who were almost up to bat. One moment he was lying on the rock alone and the next she was there, hitting bum then back. She was thrown across the cave, or possibly punched. The thought of that wasn't pleasing to Jeffery. None of it was. She killed the Master and now here was. Dying from a red poison.

The blood was slowly killing her. He'd seen it once before when he and a friend decided to experiment. They made the human drink his bane. That's it. No puncture wounds, no broken bones, just a poison introduced into his system. It took nearly two days for him to die. The end was the worst, for him. The human spasmed, convulsed (it looked as if he'd break his own back), spit up his own blood, and eventually collapsed; his eyes a vacant stare from their hollows. A few days later he awoke and that was that. 

She seized again, cocking her head back and slamming it back against the stone. Jeffery cringed as best he could; that looked painful. A small trickle of blood began down the right side of her temple. That was the second wound he could see, and smell. The scent of the second wound came to him along time ago. Before the moist black on her pants grew around and below her kneecap. If she wasn't tainted he might have considered feeding off her. The smell was intoxicating.

Another vampire stumbled into the cave. He was wounded Jeffery saw, from his downed perspective. Looking up at people, wounded with the strength of a kitten, it seemed very unvampire like. 

Hell with this, I'm getting out of here. 

He tried, pushing himself upward with his planted hands, and then buckled. A small poof of dust farted upward after he hit. His stomach cried out from him to stop and his arms agreed. This was beginning to piss him off.

Fuck. Do you think someone can just kill me now? I want to die with some dignity. 

"Dignity," he mumbled, feeling another stab at his midsection.

"Jeff." Jeffery's eyes opened from their momentary rest, slowly. "Jeffery!" the Slayer wailed in as loud a voice as she could muster. Hardly a sound in the midst of the killing, but still it held conviction. Jeffery turned his neck sluggishly and gazed at the Slayer.

"Slayer?" he hushed and a thought came to him. "I never told you my name."

"Jeff?" she said this time to the ceiling. She paused, breathing rapidly, and then added, "Where are you?"

She's delirious. It was as obvious a thing as he'd ever seen. Her flushed complexion, drenching sweat, evident confusion, all sighs pointed to feverish girl on her deathbed. But how did she know his name?

Maybe someone else told her? Maybe Jeff is an old boyfriend? 

And maybe it was the name of the Pope? Whatever the case was, she'd peaked his interest. And thus began the agonizing process of crawling to her, one inch at a time, caused the wound to unravel it's micro-stitches. 

He clawed at the solid and pulled himself another arm length forward. As a side bonus, the battle only a few meters away momentarily fled his mind. The pain wouldn't be forgotten, though. It implored him to stop; sending his body afire, but he refused to. How did she know his name?

I'm coming Slayer, Jeffery thought and was soon by her side. Her gaze was back to his direction, but she seemed to not see him. It was as if she saw right through him. He touched her cheek (making sure to stay clear of the blood). She was burning up. She was going to die soon. It was a new absolute.

"Slayer," he said. No response, her eyes still scanned the ceiling for Jeffery. Whoever he was. Maybe he was the mutilated corpse lying against the wall? "Buffy." They stopped and her breathing seemed to slow from its rapid pace.

"Jeffery?" she asked, still not seeing him.

"I'm here. I'm here," he said, shuddering as another wave of pain hit. 

"I can hear him," she said. She tilted her head to her left and took in a deep breath. The blood and sweat ran down the crinkled paths of her face in a diluted mixture. It still stirred a craving in Jeffery. "He wants me to see him. To come to him."

Her eyes weren't focused. She could have been talking to anybody. Maybe the "Jeffery" thing was a coincidence? 

"Who's 'him'?" he asked, fearing the answer for a reason he couldn't understand.

Maybe it's the afterlife? 

She cringed, her head nearing her stomach before collapsing back. Her breathing became rapid again. The sweat was oozing off her, plastering her clothes to her body.

"He wants me to come to him," she squeaked. Her chin slid up as her gaze ventured to the entrance and the darkness engulfing it, "up there… Please, Jeffery, take me there." Her face tightened as agony struck through her, burning her. "Please."

"Only my Mom and Dad called me Jeffery," he whispered. "Nobody else gave a damn about me…as a human and vampire."

Time to pull your bootstraps up by the knickers and go for the gold. Your got your ass kicked fast but maybe you can still do something. 

That sounded good. Logic was good. He summoned up all his courage and leapt to his feet. He screamed a silent scream, biting down on his lip till it bled. A singular stream slid down his jaw and neck. His stomach wound began to bleed once again, though, thankfully the river was confined to the left side. His shirt and the top of his pants were already soaked from the previous gushing of dark red.

He fought off the dizziness and lifted up the Slayer. He nearly fell in the process. To move his stomach, in any way, was now forbidden. And therefore having to lift her and his self back up was not an option. 

He looked down at her and tried to push away the blinding pain. She was in a state of half consciousness, trying to sleep but still awake. He stepped forward felt lightning shoot through his body.

Every fucking step, he thought bitterly, every motion means more pain. 

Keeping in mind nothing but the darkness before him, he began to walk.

10

Another human was about to attack Lars, a male. He was good. His face was sprayed with beads of blood and he held his blade tight, extended with a singular hand and drooping horizontally. More blood rolled off the sword's tip and onto the ground. In the dark, brandishing his weapon, he looked like a true warrior.

From his distant vantage point Lars had seen the man kill several vampires, including Joe. Lars couldn't help but feel that his fate would be similar.

The man flew forward, into the reach of each other's sword, and his weapon did the same. Lars' sword came inward instinctively, blocking the attack. The vibrations of the collision rattled through his body. Lars couldn't help but wince as his leg was gently set afire. A small knife was buried there, handle deep. A gift from a woman that he forgot to kill swiftly and didn't die when she should have. If he could get it out it would be okay. The cut would close, stop bleeding, and the pain would begin to numb. But that wasn't a realistic goal right now. Just staying alive inside the clash of silver was his goal.

If this guy would fuck off I could kill the guy fighting Ro- 

Again his bones vibrated as he stopped his stomach from being ripped and gutted. The blade rebutted and the man cursed silently. 

There were few of them left. Lars could see a steady stream of red at his feet, flowing like the river he once thought of. Polluting the river were bodies, and of course limbs. Behind there were only a few. Those who could take the luxury of fighting carefully and cautiously like he and Robin did now. She was not far up ahead, parrying and cutting. Past the other fighters was a ninety-degree turn where the echo of battle rang continuously. 

I just want to kill this bastard. That's it. Just let me kill this- 

Suddenly, Lars fell to the ground, knocked over by a force he didn't see or hear. The man sidestepped, his eyes caught gazing forward, as Lars flew towards him. He landed on his stomach and kissed the ground. For a moment his face was drowned in the blood.

FUCK! he screamed and retracted his head in a panic. The beads of the red mask dripped off and back where to where they came. 

"Fuck," he whispered and felt a little disgusted, savoring and nauseating taste. "Fu…" The word slid into silence and his eyes widened. It was at that instant that Lars was sure he was going to die.

"-What the hell-"

"-Kill him-"

Again, Lars felt puzzled. What the hell are they screaming about? To add another element to the mystery Lars saw a fresh body, lying only a few feet from where he was. The woman was still alive; bleeding from a shallow slit that stretched across her stomach. She's the one who hit me. 

The others were all silent, metaphorical jaws open, mesmerized by a sight. Even Robin was in on the act. Though, Lars noticed a fresh coat of blood on her sword.

She took down the girl. Before she saw it. 

Lars turned himself over, feeling a sort of dread, and pushed his head forward, elbows to hands buried in the blood. A dying scream ran through the tunnel, to product of the human who just died. Lars blinked and did so again. The drifting cloud of ash was still there. The man wasn't a vampire and he turned to ash.

"What the," he whispered and watched another woman step up to the stranger.

The vampires stood like scattered totem polls, witnessing with awe. The woman ran forward and raised her sword to attack, blade over her head. The stranger ducked downward, moving with a speed that Lars never saw before, and reappeared a few inches from the woman. He lifter his hand and touched the woman's neck.

"Shit on me," Lars said as the stranger walked through the ash that was just the woman. "Shit on me!" It looked like he was talking to himself… and his eyes were closed! The human Lars was fighting dashed over him and rushed the stranger.

Both moved quickly. The human stabbed at the stranger, hacking in an overhand, slanted fashion. The stranger ducked and dodged, stepped to his side. The human tried again, twisting his wrists and preparing to slash horizontally. The stranger was already inside the arc of his swing before the motion began.

The stranger disarmed the human in a manner that Lars couldn't see, swinging his hand as if to slap his midsection. Lars watched the man's back, then his sword slip out of his hands, seemingly yanked out by an imaginary force, and finally blade hit the wall and fall into the muck of the sewer.

The stranger, using the same hand, gripped the man's neck. For an instant it looked as if his neck glowed, illuminated by a tiny ball of light. Then the stranger pushed forward, dust becoming of the flesh.

He walked forward, minding the vampires and sidestepping each. They watched as they did from the beginning, awed. As a final gesture he swooped down and touched the woman's neck that Lars took notice of. A moment later he rounded the corner and was gone.

Lars looked at the six other vampires standing around. Sluggishly he got to his feet, feeling the blood rolling off his body. He reached down and pulled the knife from his leg, succeeding in suppressing any sort of facial expression. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to appear any different that any of the other vampires. Each did nothing but look at each other.

Another scream ran down the tunnel. Lars felt an involuntary flinch. Another had died. He gave Robin a glance and started to where the stranger went. He heard the rest do the same.

* * * *

It was after the first of a series of dizzy spells that Jeffery decided that he'd had enough. And he was pretty sure the Slayer would say the same, if the sounds spewed from her mouth at all resembled words. His knees collapsed and he fell forward, pushing the Slayer away as he did so. She landed full-length on her side and he landed similarly. 

He, Jeffery, had never felt so lightheaded in his unlife. The bottom portion of his shirt, stretching to the sides, had soaked through quite profusely. But that's not what worried him. It was that with each agonized step he felt his pants moistening. First, only around his belt and crouch, but now he could feel the wet near the front of his knees. 

It scared him. It scared him to think that so much of his blood had left his body. Each step he felt his panic heighten with the knowledge that each time his foot his the ground the blood kept flowing a little while longer. A watched pot doesn't boil and an aggravated wound doesn't close. 

Especially when you almost lost your intestines only awhile back, especially. 

This was as far as he was going for another reason. The fight, it was nearing. They weren't that far from the junction where the main tunnel ran and the back entrance that they'd used connected. That meant a lot of heavily armed warriors were coming their way. It certainly sounded of it.

Two broken fighters lying the on the ground and not a weapon between them. This would have to do, Jeffery decided.

But what was the point? Jeffery asked himself. Why did she ask me to bring her here? But his subconscious asked a far more important question, _what_ told her to come here?

"But I doubt you can tell me anything, huh, Slayer?" Jeffery asked, his voice a pained whisper. The Slayer only gazed at him, lost in her own sickness and lightly fidgeting with each painful breath. She wasn't looking at him but her eyes were directly fixated in his direction. It was creepy. Jeffery turned his head and decided to see if ceilings could be entertaining.

Jeffery stared at a certain shadowy formation directly in his view. Looks kind of like Jesus. He couldn't help but smile. Satan would be a bit more reassuring at this point.

"I should have grabbed one of those corpses back there," Jeffery mumbled. The hunger was kicking in again, in full force. The Slayer was looking more and more enticing with each passing second.

I doubt she'd mind. Probably consider it a blessing at this point. But what would happen to me? She's dying, from his blood. Do I really want that in my system? Jeffery paused, allowing his senses to take in his surroundings. They're close now. Just a little past the junction. 

"I think our luck has almost run out," Jeffery said. "A vamp will probably kill you and one of the sheep will probably kill me."

Still, a somewhat cool way to die, for both of us. 

Jeffery tried to focus on the sound of the battle. It sounded exactly like the Master's lair. Same weapons colliding, same spastic bawling. Only the cluster was bigger and farther away. It was only a few moments later that a new element entered the scene, footfalls, quick and feverish. Several at one moment and then the next there were only a few. They were coming closer.

Shit! I don't want to turn over. I don't want to turn over- 

Curiosity and worry got the best of him. He dug his right elbow into the cement and pushed. He sprung himself over and landing on the latter arm, shrieking silently.

AHH! CU- 

"Damn that hurts. Damn that hurts," Jeffery mumbled and then paused. "Stay there," he said to his arm and then set his chin on the muddled floor, his eyes reaching out of their sockets to get a clear view.

He caught something, a shadow, a silhouette, running past the junction and into the back entrance, and then another. Their attire… it suggested humans. It wasn't the casual clothing of the vampires within the tunnel. 

"Where you goin?" Jeffery asked to the fading sounds of their feet. It was a gargle in an ocean of sound. Or was it? For the first time in awhile, Jeffery tried listening. Really listening. The familiar sounds of the evening were gone. The sound of nothing had replaced them. 

What the? 

Another dizzy spell struck, hard. His vision blurred, blackened, betraying him, and then returned. He shook his head as a weary boxer and then set his cheek against the ground.

The Slayer was asleep. Part of him thought it was good but the other, the realist, realized it was anything but good. Her body (and mind, he supposed) had given up fighting the sickness. The quiet before the big goodbye, as an old friend would have said. 

Before he was hit by a final, crippling blow against his consciousness, he saw something. No, not something, someone. He saw him, or her, turning the crooked Y-junction and come into view. He (Jeffery was sure of that now) was also dragging something.

Then, Jeffery saw a cascade of black dots clouding his vision and then nothing but black itself.

* * * *

For the first time since the battle began Jael allowed himself a luxury that he wouldn't have considered 10 minutes ago. He sat down. 

The granite surface under his crossed legs was cold, chilling beneath his thick robes. But he realized that without having to push his bare fingers against it. He was beginning to realize a lot of things. 

It's almost here, Jael thought merrily. He smiled, closed his eyes, and allowed his face to contort to its more human visage. His grin turned to a light scowl. Something was bothering him. His face tightened. Something not here.

His eyes closed, the visual was gone. He blocked out the audio with equal ease. A talent learnt through hundreds of years of meditation. The threat of an attack never once entered his mind. Not everything depends upon flesh. If anyone tried to strike he would sense it. And by all accounts the battle was nearly won. There were only four active vampires left. One for each of his remaining children. 

Brendan was the first to die. Everett failing to protect him after the stray bullet and suffering a torturous slashing because of it. Remy after him and Ceria being the last to be killed. The domino effect, one falls all several after in a chain reaction. Now it was one on one with the more stubborn of the vampires. Each was doing his or her own personal ballet to avoid death's grip (though, none tried to battle Jael or Gabriel on their own after the Slayer). 

For Jael, the physical was gone. He was no longer dependent of his body's senses as he was during the battle. He was now in the plane. 

There were 13 of them in the cavern. Five vampires, including the fellow with the hole in his head, six of his, himself and of course the boy. The boy… his lifeforce, aura, was weakening. It wasn't as overwhelmingly bright as a few hours ago. It had dampened, darkened from its original gloss. Something…

Jael expanded his view. Sunnydale was now under his scrutinizing gaze. It had changed, the lifeforce as a whole. There was something interfering with his perspective, a thin tapestry of energy that steamed across the area, being drawn to-

Nothing. He searched for the source of the interference and that's what he found. All arrows pointed to it but it wasn't where it should have been. There was nothing but a blank there. And it was nearing. 

A spell? Possibly. But the tapestry, it was made of something familiar, powerful. There were nothing sure here, only shadows and blurs. The clouding mist was flowing from the nothing. The nothing was strong.

Jael focused his eye on the sewer. The darkness that was the vampires was still there, though, their numbers had significantly declined. He focused and searched for what should be there but found nothing. There was no light only dark.

They're dead. The truth hit him like an asteroid upon a lively planet. They were dead; his foot soldiers were dead. He searched and searched again. There were stints, slivers, but nothing as obvious as an hour ago. 

The nothing… the Slayer. He'd seen her being hauled away by the vampire but thought nothing of it. His blood was in her; she'd be in the next world and would turn soon after that. Then, he'd begin the process of thousands of years of torture. He searched and found her an instant later. She was still alive, but…

"No," he whispered, scathing. "No!" 

How? he thought opening his eyes. How could have? But it didn't matter. He had to stop it. Whatever it was. 

An instant later Jael was on his feet. It was almost here. It moved quickly, like he would have if the situation called for it. Faster and faster it came.

Jael calmed himself and listened, not far and moving faster as it traveled. It was something of mass, not much bigger than himself, smaller even. He stood where he did when the Slayer and her counterparts were arriving. 

His soldiers were continuing to duel with the vampires and Gabriel was still at his side. It slowed, significantly. It was almost within visual range now. The nothing, the one who could not be sensed, walked into view, out of the dark and into the fire lit cavern. 

A boy? But not a boy. The one who killed Naeem, the one who Everett spoke of. The random. The random with his eyes closed, moving as if directed by a god.

The boy walked down the entrance, not minding the vampires and Ecrasmau's around him. Jael felt his face shift and his teeth grow pointed. The boy continued walking, miraculously missing each of the eight warrior's paths as they crisscrossed around the room. To put the action in context, in was like crawling across a freeway at rush hour.

Jael felt his muscles tighten. This wasn't part of the plan, wasn't part of…

The boy stopped, halfway through the dank chamber, and things began to slow around him. Those fighting finally took notice. The random opened his eyes.

Have to kill him! Kill him before- 

And then, pointed towards Austin, the boy raised his hand-

11

Lars sneaked down the tunnel, keeping his back close to the wall. Though, part of him asked why. Just a few feet behind was Robin, then a vampire named Marshal, then Colin, then Gina, and so on and so on. On his own he looked like a cautious vampire. Together they looked like a group of chicken shits. Around 25 chicken shits if he measured up the group correctly, collecting most of the lost after the encounter. They made out alright, the weak fell fast in great numbers and they remained steady like a stubborn weed. 

The cut in his leg had stopped throbbing and the bleeding had halted nicely. If he were to take the time to inspect the wound he'd see a small red line, puffed outwards and moistened lightly. In a half-hour it would be gone completely. It was good to be a vampire.

In the midst of it all, the tying thought in Lars' mind was whether or not to be afraid. The man, stranger, hadn't touched them. He didn't even notice them. But he killed with ease and any sort of hesitation was absent. Killing was something that most humans who considered themselves to be good rarely did without some sort of moral conflict. 

"He killed the bad guys," Lars whispered, "that's good enough for me."

"What's that?" Robin asked, equal tone. 

Lars whizzed around. "Nothing!" he barked low. He paused. "Nothing. Now please be quiet."

Okay, Robin mouthed and nodded, annoyed. 

Better pissed than dead. And you better shut your own mouth while you're at it. 

He shut his mouth; lips firmly pressed to each other, and began to walk again. The tunnel became crooked ahead, where two lines connected. He could smell blood, a lot of it. A slaughtered patrol, he guessed. 

He could smell something else. The stranger had quickly gotten out of range as they struggled to make with the situation. This wasn't his scent, but it was something that was alive. It was muddled in the deathly air, stale and polluted. 

Lars reached out with his left hand, twisted back. The crowd came to a stop.

I can hear you, asshole. 

The asshole, as it was, rounded the slant in a frantic dash, nearly slipping in the muck. He regained his grip, while still running, and continued toward them. It was a vampire. Lars smelt him. A different scent. The vampire was caught in a sprint, constantly stumbling while miraculously keeping on his feet. His hands were pressed to his side.

He was nearly at them now. The vampires stood and watched, unsure. "If I were you," he began at Lars' side, "I'd get the fuck out of here." He was now past the group and well on his way down the tunnel.

Lars watched the vampire small in his view. He looked back to his group. There was that same feeling of hesitation again. 

I know what I want to do. 

A vampire, his eyes scanning his peers, stepped back. He threw a glance back to the distancing vampire and then broke out in a trot. Another followed. 

Fuckin chickens, Lars thought coldly. How do you know what's going on over there? 

Two more took off, and Lars looked back to the junction. There was no movement. The smell was still there. It was human, he decided. Tainted, but human. He turned back to the group to see who else was a fucking moron.

Robin was stepping back, her front to him. Damn, Lars thought, and his face projected it nicely. His face sorrowed, eyes saddened, but then suddenly became a scowl. Ingrate! he rasped and she was stepping back. 

"Se ya," he said.

She didn't reply. The only thing he could get from her was that she didn't want to leave, she had to! Fuck you. She had to and she wanted him to come along. Fuck you, he repeated and she turned and ran. Fuck you. You sure as hell are no friend. 

With eight of the vampires gone, Lars began the parade again. This smell had intrigued him.

* * * *

Buffy awoke…

No. I wasn't actually sleeping, was I? 

Buffy became coherent once again and the first thing she realized was that she was saying something. It was like a bad song caught in her head, set on an endless repeat.

"-Run or you'll die, Jeffery. Run or you'll die, Jeff-"

She stopped and tilted her head up to get a view of her new surroundings. There was nothing but the endless path of sewage and concrete that had become so familiar. The action seemed to exhaust her since her head suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. It fell back and thumped into the thin layer of sturdy muck that lay on top of the hard ground. 

Ouch, she thought, but didn't act it out. It would be like drawing attention to a sparkler when the forth of July fireworks were going on in the background. She ached, she hurt, every word in the dictionary that meant pain she felt. Still, it wasn't so bad compared to the fire after…

After he broke me. The thought rang in her head and then she tried to raise her hands. A spasm went through her body and they fell back to the ground. It was the right one, the wrist that he broke. It was shortly after his act that the fire consumed her. 

He pushed his bleeding fingers into her mouth and she never felt so helpless in her life. Nothing could break her free at that moment; it was a fact that she was well aware of. Then a sour, bitter, foul taste entered her mouth. It coated her mouth, running across the top of her mouth, around her tongue, and then slipped down her throat. 

It was like a match was throw into a lake of oil. Instantly she burnt, from the inside. It started in her stomach, and then flew across her in a lightning flash. 

She didn't know how it a normal human would have felt, but to her, it was like it attacked her. The blood attacked whatever made her a Slayer. She could feel it happening, the mystic strength in her being sapped away as she writhed in the fire. It was the only thing she knew while it was killing her. First came pain, then a haze, and then darkness as her mind retreated from her body.

There was something else. Jeffery, whoever he is, brought me here for a reason. 

Jeffery brought her here. She didn't remember it but she knew it. She told him to leave so logic dictated that she told him to take her away from the lair. 

Thank you, Jeff. Whoever you are. Her mind quieted. There was another person to thank. Someone was responsible for extinguished the fire. 

As she was coming out of the darkness, back into the state of delirious pain, she felt a presence of purity within herself. A pressure on her chest from which the cleansing energy seeped from and then the fire, dying. No thoughts were present during the crisis, just the feeling.

Thank you. 

Buffy fell asleep a less than a minute later. Thoughts of Austin, Jael, Liam, Willow, never once entered her mind. Maybe it was just as well, others would have though. If the thoughts had come to her, she probably would have forced herself to her feet and limped back to the lair with an unending resolve. To sleep was best.

So she slept, unaware that her friend wasn't that far before her, unaware of the vampires coming from behind, and totally unaware of the woman that was only a few feet away, limp, pale, and complete with two puncture marks in her throat.

* * * *

Liam opened his eyes, reached towards the child, and felt the last of the energy flow from his being. And then, like a fading mist, the child disappeared from behind the female Ecrasmau.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

The shriek was as pitched as a hyena's at midnight. Liam felt an urge to cover his ears, as he knew the others were doing, but decided not to. What's the p- Liam was now hurtling across the room, driven by the wild punch to his jaw.

He hit the slanted floor before the entrance and began to tumble upwards, looking like an out of control car at a stock car rally. No snaps were heard but Liam was sure something broke, it certainly felt it. He flipped and twisted hitting his right shoulder blade, chest, knees, and then his back again. He came to a rest looking directly beneath the entrance to the tunnel. The rounded surface of its roof filled half his view while the other half slid upwards into the dark hall.

My jaw… it's broken. There, so he was right. He spit out three of his teeth like chiclets, covered with his blood like a bad spaghetti sauce. His jaw was fractured, on his left side, making it unbearable to talk. Start, have to start now. May all those with the blood of the tainted by cleansed from this reality- 

"I don't know how you did that but you're dead!" Jael scowled bearing fangs, green eyes flaming. "DEAD!" 

Jael picked up Liam by his neck, choking out the air with his grip. Liam closed his eyes and allowed his limbs to go completely limp. The blood was swelling in his mouth and he began to attempt to swallow the bitter fluid.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Liam didn't want to and didn't feel it was necessary to do any such thing. He knew what would happen. A moment later he was flying again, propelled by Jael's frenzied toss.

May the nothing cla- For a moment, it was impossible for Liam to have a coherent thought. He flew like a bullet and hit the corner of one of the pillars stretching to the ceiling. His mind was nothing but an ocean of pain as he felt his shoulder dislocated and then began to spin and slope in his flying arc. He hit the tumbling rock, shoulder then face. In his mind he wailed, feeling his jaw grinding against the solid floor. His arm hung limp and twisted on top of him, like a dead twig. 

Oh god, oh god. I am the sacrifice. Let my blood be the weapon in this, the final act of the indestructible- 

"-AAHHHH-!"

"-get the fucker-!"

The vampires, he was killing them, painfully. Liam blocked the cries till they came nothing but dulled droning and continued to recite the passage that Amasa had told him of.

May the nothing claim me and do the same to those- A moist cracking sound sneaked into his ear and Liam felt a wave of disgust pass through him. His skull… Fuck him! Vampire scum! I offer myself to them, the higher bei- 

"TELL ME HOW TO BRING HIM BACK!"

Suddenly, his chest was on fire and Liam felt himself rocketed forward, the object of a game of kickball. His path wasn't as horizontal as the other times. His flight upward started somewhere near 70 degrees and began to decline rapidly. A moment later he was heading downward, creating a dull splash as he hit the body in the water. The crippling pain of collision was becoming all too familiar.

No ribs broken. Thank god. Bruised, not broken. Liam hacked up another ball of saliva and blood mixed together, letting it slide out his mouth and onto the back of the vampire. Thankfully, his view was of the vampire's backside, not his head. I am the sacrifice! I give myself to you! May my blood be the weapon against him! Let- 

An iron weight came down on Liam's knee and he felt it shatter. The scream rose in his stomach but only made itself known in his mind. Again, he felt nothing but the agonizing pain at that moment.

I AM THE SACRIFICE! 

Jael scooped Liam up, bringing him eye level. "BRING HIM BACK TO ME!" Jael bawled in Liam's face, gripping him just beneath the shoulders. Liam's neck tensed, his mind doing nothing but writhing in the pain, his head pointed upward, his gaze at the ceiling. "I HAVE TO LEAVE HERE!"

MY BLOOD WILL BE THE WEAPON! MY BODY IT'S CARRIER! 

Jael lifted Liam to the sky, keeping his hold on his arms. Liam's legs dangled by Jael's face, swaying back and forth ever so slightly, the right twisted to a position that looked unnatural.

"TELL ME!"

Liam's response was spitting up another glob of blood. It didn't travel far. He felt it land on his chin.

I GIVE MYSELF FREELY TO TH- 

Liam suddenly felt himself traveling downwards, and then a pain like no other strike him, square in the back. He felt his entire body seize and then a fire start where he felt the blow, and its shooting across his body in an instant. The audible snap didn't reach his ears till he hit the ground, dropped by Jael. The sound was like a late night train that fell just a little behind. But even without the sound he already knew what happened. His spine was broken.

-I am the sacrifice, my blood is the weapon, I am the sacrifice- 

"Tell me what you did to the child," Jael whispered, so very close to Liam's ear. Liam's eyes closed like a dying light bulb, and his body felt like doing something similar…soon. "All your friends will die if you don't. I won't be merciful. They'll be alive for years, till they're old and withered, and then I'll kill them. And I'll kill them again, and again, and again. And each day I'll remind them that it was you that doomed them." Jael paused, chuckling. "Tell me or you'll die. Tell me or they'll all die."

-my blood is the weapon, I am the sacrifice- 

"TELL ME OR THEY'LL ALL FUCKING DIE!"

-blood…it is the weapon, I am the sacrifice- 

"That's it," Jael said angrily. "YOU'RE REAAALLY FUCKED NOW, BOY!" Jael placed his fingers in Liam's mouth and clamped down. The top row of teeth shattered and Liam shrieked his internal voice. The pain began anew throughout his conscious body, pummeling his senses with the agony. He was moving, dragged by the hand clasping his mouth. He couldn't feel anything from his midsection down. It seemed like a blessing now.

-let my pain end and his begin- 

"I think this nexus hasn't tasted enough blood today, do you?"

Liam was still being dragged. His body bled from the inside and his breathing slowed. 

He was dying.

-may my life end his- 

Jael placed his grip around the back of Liam's neck. He picked him up and pushed him forward, his feet barely grazing the floor. Liam's shut eyes were only inches from the portal, it's once clear complexion now near a pitch black.

I am the sacrifice. 

Liam felt himself pushed forward and then an everlasting pain.

And then he felt nothing.

12

Willow was sleeping, and she couldn't wake up. The nurses around her couldn't explain it. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing physical, but she just wouldn't wake up. It was like something out of _Sleeping Beauty_**.**

Willow wasn't aware of any of this. She was in a dream. She had to be. This couldn't be real.

The grass around her was long, green, reaching to her knees. The sun was bright in the sky, bathing her in its warmth. It was a cloudless ocean of blue. The green seemed eternal, stretching as far as her eyes dared to venture. But to her this wasn't a place of nirvana, as others would take it, it seemed closer to a nightmare.

She knelt down, the thick blades of grass pointing at her chest and legs wrapped in a tuff white dress, and pried through woolly turf. She couldn't see through the maze but she could feel its bottom. It was a mud; thick, wet, and sticky. She retrieved her hand out of the muck and stood back up. Her hand now smelt foul, the mud clinging to her like dead maggots in a deep stay of decay. 

Willow looked around, still nothing but the endless prairie. This time, though, she took note of something else. There were no sounds, no crickets, no grasshoppers, and not even a bird. It was certain now. This was a nightmare, because she was alone. 

"Hello? Is there anybody out there?!" No response. "HELLO?!" she screamed, her hands placed around her mouth like a megaphone. "Anybody!"

Suddenly, her hand began to ache. A mild burning that soon became a stabbing pain at the center of her palm. It felt as if the mud had become acidic. A deep panic rose in her.

"Jesus," she whispered, frantically wiping her hand against her dress.

It wouldn't come off. The mud just refused to come off.

"Come on!" she shrieked. "Come on, PLEASE!" 

The brown stain on the side of her stomach suddenly became bigger as she scrubbed her palm against it. And a new color was added to it, red. 

She held her hand out before her, now virtually spotless. A deep gash ran in a straight, slanted pattern. It wasn't bleeding, but looked to be pulsating and throbbing. The pain subsided and then it just _was_. It was…

Where was I? 

That was a difficult question to answer. Her extended memory was absolute. She could recall practically every fact from her childhood to… She remembered the name of her kindergarten teacher, how amazing it was to have her first bike (a bright, shinny red one with pink streamers hanging from the handles that Xander used to make fun of), the names of all her dolls, how sad she was when her uncle died-

Died. Someone died… almost a half year ago. 

Oz… Oz died. He died and left her all alone.

No! I still had Buffy, Xander, Liam, Giles, my parents, my baby- 

Her child, he was gone, taken by the madman because-

Because he is a chosen one. Like Buffy, and may very one day become a god like that madman wants to. 

A god. She never really thought about, accepted, what the ramifications of her son's calling would be. The power that he could weld, the temptations-

Her dreams' eye suddenly shifted the way that the course of a dream usually does and her gaze was back at her hand. She watched it with a sense of detachment, like the limb wasn't a part of her body. She no longer felt any sensation in her hand. The pain had faded from her mind as the memory of the mud had, like a bad dream.

Willow stood in the field, alone, with the sense that something dire was going on.

* * * *

Everyone in the cave felt that Jael had gone insane. He, on the other hand, felt quite sane. He was liberated! He was free!

"HE'S FUCKING DEAD!"

The words kept on repeating themselves in his head and he bawled them accordingly.

"HE'S FUCKING DEAD!" A pause. "HE'S FUCKING DEAD!"

The stark reality had set in after he threw the stranger into the portal. They were both dead, the stranger and the child. He should have seen it coming. It was no coincidence that he appeared without warning during their first attack. And it was no coincidence that he laid low until now, when his single act would have such ramifications on his plan. He had to have been some sort of sorcerer, sent by god knows who to foil his plan. Yes, not even the lords of this reality would simply stand back and watch their home being annihilated. No, they're petty. They would bend their own rules and send a weapon to defeat him. A weapon disguised as a random that could do the one thing that all others could not, slip in undetected and wipe the key to his plan from existence. That's what the child was now, obliterated. Dead and not coming back.

"HE'S FUCKING DEAD!"

Yes, he was dead and now it was time to play. 

"HE'S FU-" Jael stopped mid-sentence. A sadistic grin grew on his face and his eyes grew mischievous. He stood only a foot away from the portal, still in its dark gray swirl. 

His remaining followers, Annie, Rueben, Santo, Phoebe, were to his back. They couldn't see him really, not his expression, the clue to his thoughts. All were out of sight but Gabriel. She who was standing in the corner of the cavern, fearful eyes gazing at him, empty blanket behind her. He would just have to do something about those eyes, wouldn't he?

"Gabriel," Jael whispered. He began to giggle despite his attempts not to. "You were never one of my first. But now you will be."

She heard what was said and Jael turned to her. Jael kept smiling and he could see that she had become very afraid. He stopped laughing and Gabriel couldn't do anything before Jael was suddenly in front of her. He then shoved his hand through her chest.

I'm going to kill so many people. 

All those years of hiding and now it had come to this, an immortal in a world of mortals. It was indeed time to have fun.

In his hand he clenched her still heart and caught on his forearm was her body, bleeding perversely from the gap in her chest. She no longer looked afraid, only in pain. Jael's grin was absolute. 

Jael flattened out his latter hand and pushed it alongside his arm. Gabriel still hadn't screamed. The flesh was soft, bones cutting at his hand, and was surprisingly warm. The blood was running down his clean wrist when he flexed and swung his arms wide. Gabriel was torn in half. 

The top of her body flew upward, twisting and spitting blood everywhere, before it turned to ash. The red muscle in his hand combusted also. Jael felt the black powder leaking out of his grip. 

Now for the rest. 

Jael turned to the four and surveyed them. They were backing away, holding their weapons before them, eyes fixated on him. They were afraid. Beneath their resolve he could see it. Fuck, he knew it. They wouldn't get away unless he wanted them to.

He took his first step forward when he noticed something. Gabriel's blood, splattered on his hands and soaking through his clothes, was moving. Not downward as gravity dictated but sideways. So subtly that even he barely felt it but still moving. Moving towards…

He looked at the portal. It was no longer in motion. It was no longer gray but a color quickly shifting to red. No, there was now movement at its center. Gentle ripples that were…

No. 

Jael broke into a dash toward the exit.

* * * *

Lars knew that the Slayer had almost died. But it didn't make any sense. Though faint, it smelled as if she were becoming a vampire. The smell of the body dying, the blood cooling, the flesh being prepared for becoming a host for a demon. But she was alive, and her heart beat steadily, making no skips and showed no signs of slowing. She started the process but then it reversed itself.

Now how the hell does that happen? 

This was a question that Lars was contemplating alone. The other vampires were gone. Screaming echoed down the tunnel earlier. Not coming from several voices as prior but steaming from a singular being, a man from the sound of it. So his patriarchs took off to possibly face the enemy while Lars decided to try and pry some answers from the Slayer. She showed no signs of waking anytime soon, despite his attempts. And it was just moments ago that he heard a new call. "He's fucking dead," by the sound of it.

But that could wait. Battle was tiring him. Now he faced a new question.

Her neck did look good.

There was no real moral dilemma involved only the hierarchy of importance. What mattered more, his hunger or questioning the Slayer? Any information regarding the threat would be helpful. Was there any success if wounding or killing their target? What were the numbers up ahead? Did she come into contact with the stranger? But then it all came back to one of the fundamental principles of being a vampire; you kill a helpless human, especially if she just happens to be a Slayer.

Make a choice fast, boy. You came here to kill an immortal, daywalking vampire that happens to want to exterminate your race. 

Lars kneeled down and shook her vigorously. Her head rolled loosely on top of her shoulders. She refused to wake. 

It was Slayer blood, the best kind.

It was when he neared a decision (he felt his fangs coming to bare) when his ears stopped him. His companions had found a fight.

"Shit!" he whispered. 

The sounds came from a distance, but Lars couldn't tell if it was from the lair or just the tunnel. It sounded damn near close to the Master's former abode, though. Damn close.

I hope you wake up soon, Slayer. We may need your help. 

Lars picked up his blade off the ground, not minding the filth that had attached itself to the weapon, and stood back up. The Slayer's eyes were tight, unflinching. Lars wasn't sure what it meant, being in such a deep sleep and no REM.

He felt good, prepared, and started to run down to the battle. And for the first time, he took note of the light breeze in the tunnel, steadily building itself in the last half minute. 

* * * *

Despite Buffy's opinion of them, the vampires that took care of Everett after she impaled him were a lot smarter than they looked. They cut, slashed, hacked, did everything their weapons would allow to inflict as much pain upon him as they could. And they did another thing learnt through hundreds or years of torture; they left his central nervous system intact.

FUCKERS! 

Everett couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't taste, and he couldn't smell, but he could feel as well as think. His right hand was gone. His eyes were scooped out of their sockets. His left ear was cut off while the right was flimsily hanging on after they went after his eardrums. His tongue was cut out. And he was sure that most of his nose had been sawed off. The list went on and on. 

FUCKERS! YOU'LL ALL DIE! 

He tried to speak but it wasn't happening. If anyone happened to be watching him, they'd see his toothless jaw fight its way from a gapping O to meet with the bloodied top of his mouth, and then slid back down with the speed of a rusted hinge. That, for Everett, was talking.

The strength had been sapped out of him, but he wasn't yet dead from the blood loss. Another hour he'd be empty, like the fuel tank of a barren car, and then combustion, nothing but a scatter of ash in a wash of blood. 

Till then his resolve for revenge wouldn't die. He would not die, not now, not ever. Jael would save him. Once the ritual's complete he'd save him. He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't pass out. He'd be ready to walk with him in the promised land. And then he'd kill every human he could find. Bath in their blood till time's end. Just like Jael promised. 

He didn't even mind the fact that Annie hadn't tried to save him. She'd make it up to him. He'd make sure of it.

I'LL KILL YOU ALL! I'LL BATH IN YOUR BLOOD! RIP OUT YOUR HEARTS! KILL YOU ALL! 

Everett couldn't feel it, but his blood quietly began to flow towards his skull. A change he didn't notice through the wall of pain assaulting his body. His entire body was being rained on by acid and for that he'd have revenge. Everything else was obsolete. 

He continued his cries while a wind that he could barely feel pulled him forward, picked him up, and ended his pain.

He'd joined Liam in the void.

* * * *

Jeffery fell to the ground, succumbing to the pain stabbing him in the midsection. He made it; he was out of the sewer. 

That human he'd be given was truly a blessing. And the man who'd given it to him achieved godlike status Jeffery's mind. The man fed him, warned him (the Slayer's rant after the stranger did whatever it was he did to her), and definitely saved his skin. 

God bless human blood. Jeffery thought sincerely. It really gets you going. 

He was lying in the middle of the concrete road, building surrounding on each side, allowing his body to rest when he felt something. The wind was suddenly picking up.

He looked over to the girl, who just made it out of the manhole. She felt it too. So did the other, a man whose name he did not know. 

"Close it," Jeffery whispered. "Close it now!"

The man was the first to recognize and slid the top of the lid back into its place. Before it closed, Jeffery heard a definite cry of, "STOP!" And then, for a moment's pause, it was silent. It didn't last long.

The heavy lid rattled and shook, like the top of a kettle as the water reached an impossible boiling point. 

This time it was the girl with the quick reflexes. She jumped onto the lid and pressed onto it with her palms and knees. The top shook again but did not jump. And Jeffery, for the first time, noticed the girl's shoulder length hair flailing wildly about.

Jeffery moved to help her but felt an outside force helping him to her side. It was definitely a pull.

He was now skidding along the concrete, still on his back, and slammed into the girl. She was pressed firmly against the entrance's cover on her side, curled into a tiny ball. The gentle breeze had quickly become a vise grip. 

The banging on the cover had ceased.

"Oh shit!" the other man wailed. 

The wind picked up a notch. Jeffery found himself unable to move. His arms and head were anchored against the concrete. 

"Fuck this hurts," the girl said, her forehead pressed against the metal top. "Goddamn this hurts!"

Why are you screaming, Jeffery thought. There was no sound. It was definitely a wind, not a deep gravity, but a wind. 

Another notch. 

But it made no sound. Except for their cries the night was silent. The air was still.

"SHIT!" Jeffery screamed. It now felt like the skin on his face was in danger of being pulled off. No, not just his face, his entire body. He could feel it rolling like ocean water during a bad storm.

Please just let me get out of this. Please just let me get out of this. 

"BASSTAAARD!" the girl cried.

Please just let me get out of this. Please- 

* * * *

Buffy awoke to an amazing site. It looked as if there was a river above her. But maybe river was too strong a word. It was like a deep, strong rain, streaming on the air while some force was keeping the drops near to each other. Strange was that it looked symmetrical. The fluid was weaving a cyclone that looked alive, leaving gaps, covering them an instant later, while moving at an astronomical pace. Drops fell out of the path and then met back within the vortex an instant later. 

Even stranger was that it looked like it was blood.

"-EEEEAAHHHH-"

Ah, what's that? 

The scream was coming from down the tunnel; opposite of where she just came. She pressed the back of her head down and tilted her chin up as high as she could, still feeling the agonizing affects of the fight. Her eyes quickly widened.

She acted without a single thought. She instantly began to roll; her maimed arm sprawled out above her head while the latter was pinned beneath her stomach. 

She didn't see the body hitting the concrete but she heard it. The scream momentarily cut out while the person hit the granite slab. The moist crunching, fracturing of bones and tearing of flesh, filled Buffy's ears for that instant. 

The person careered back up as a Ping-Pong ball would have, hit the ceiling, and then continued flying down the tunnel. The scream returned for an instant before vanishing around a corner with the person. 

But it wasn't a person was it? In the brief glimpse that Buffy saw him hurtling towards her, she saw his eyes and they were yellow. 

A vampire. 

And another body. A human, female, pale, further down the tunnel that Buffy could now see in her new position. It would probably be safe to say that she had two holes in her neck, if Buffy could see it.

Vampires and blood flying through the sky. 

The hurt in her body took hold again and her breath became shuddered. Her wrist still hurt and rest of her body felt like a giant welt. 

Moving for now was out of the question. If she dared to stand up, she would become caught in the river's path. And to start crawling back to the lair would mean leaving her back exposed to another ricocheting vampire. She would have to lie in wait for now, till the blood stopped.

Wait for now but what's going on at the down there? 

She pushed the thought out of her mind and began watching the horizon for vampires.

* * * *

Fran was mulling over her ninth shot of vodka when it started. A faint breeze was sweeping through the Bronze that only she could feel. Though, it hardly registered with her. Her eyes were fixated on the tiny glass set out on the counter before her. Nothing much else really mattered. Not the customers, not the bartender, not even the stool she was sitting on who's comfort level had brought her to scolding the bartender on how her ass would be more comfortable in a bear trap. The mental note of ripping out his throat after closing time had vanished in the alcoholic ocean. 

The wind picked up and Fran finally noticed as she found herself adjusting in her seat to counter the pull. She looked back to her drink, thought of _Jurassic Park_, and then decided it was nothing.

Big things always leave ripples, she though droopily.

Her head fell forward, hitting the glossed counter with a thud, and she thought of how her drink must have looked at that moment. 

Big ripples, she thought and smiled. Huge ripples! 'Cause I'm the best there is, the best there was… and something else! 'Cause I'm a vampire! 

"'Cause I'm a vampire," she mumbled, her lips scrunched against the bronze.

"Another shot, miss?" the bartender asked, not paying any mind.

"No!" she said shaking her head. She lifted her head up and sat back into her stool. "And I'll tell you why. I'm a-"

As Robin was screaming beside a pained Jeffery and Deere, Fran was pulled off her chair. To any person that was watching this inebriated woman it looked as if and invisible hand reached out and yanked at her stomach in one quick motion. She landed on her bum and everything around her momentarily stopped. 

"My drink," she slurred and made for her feet again. Things picked up as the people along the bar thought the mishap the action of a drunken woman. "Nobody better have stolen-"

The hand reached out again. This time pulling at her in an arcane, intense grip. She flew backward. First skidding along the floor on her backside, hitting the legs of a boy carrying two cokes and emptying them to the air. This did nothing to stop her momentum, moving at a pace that would make any observant worry (if the rocketing across the club for no apparent reason weren't already enough).

Another obstacle soon found itself in Fran's path. She hit the single, steel support beam, running upward to the balcony, and then heard something snap. Something that was around her left shoulder her senses told her. Fucking breakable bones, she cursed. Little did this hurtle lesson the pace of her flight than the boy did. Instead she was now tumbling sideways rather than her sliding on her buttocks.

She entered the dance floor and many did not see the lady coming and found themselves in her path. Her spiral became twisted and hastened. She slammed into the floor one last time before hitting the first of many, hurtling upwards and hitting a woman in the chest. The woman flew back hitting two other people as Fran's spiral continued. She had now reached the peak of her arc, shoulder tall, and was now headed back downward.

From Fran's perspective this was all a blur. Her eyes caught the bar fleeing, the floor, the ceiling, and an ocean of people that looked worried/shocked/frightened. Due to the past half-year's events, and the amount of alcohol in her body, her current adventure didn't seem all that peculiar.

She curved back downward, slamming into the stomach of a man, drilling him out onto the floor, and hit the legs of a few more pedestrians. It ended with a booming crash that brought the club to a halt. Fran, leaving the maze of people behind, hit the stage, stretched out like a lazy cat under the window shade. 

For another half minute she lay as if in a state of spasm, shaking and vibrating above the floor, while the stage refused to give in and allow her to travel any farther. The faint sound of the planks of wood rattling was all that filled the bar.

This hurts, Fran thought and closed her eyes. The human gazes didn't falter and continued to look with awe.

For no apparent reason the wind stopped and Fran fell to the floor.

"Ow," she said. The pain in her shoulder suddenly became very real, though, the urge to get up hadn't come. It was better just to lie still, for now.

"Miss?" Fran opened her eyes. It was one of the guys she hit, judging from the way he was holding his knee. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," Fran said, feeling a laugh rising out of her chest. "Be a dear and fetch me my drink."

It took a moment for the man to register this. "Okay?" he finally said.

That was fun! Fran thought and found herself a moment later laughing. That was so much fun. 

* * * *

From the point of Liam's blood rite, the vortex lasted exactly 2:47 seconds. The spiral nearly halted altogether in its pull. The blurred lines in the portal, spinning while it ate fragments of blood and ash, turned briefly to solids arcs and then to nothing. It was as if someone had pushed the stop button.

But in that brief period, the ritual began by Liam did as intended. Jael was strong, fast, capable, but he could not outrun a mystical force unheard of previously by people who walked the earth. Only the Vymri Cerln knew of the time it would take to bridge the gap from Jael's new realm to theirs. And what waited between them, the nothing, the destructor, and how to exploit its power.

The power was brought forth with an offering and ended with a coming.

The gateway was complete. The portal became perfectly still, as pitch a black as could be. The link that Jael sought had finally been achieved.

Then a faint ripple began at its center, passing over the black ocean until it hit the end and disappeared. Another minuscule wave followed, and another, and another. Each gaining strength over the previous.

A pink stub appeared at their origin and began to poke its way through. 

The stub revealed itself to be the tip of a finger. Other fingers, folded back, followed. A thumb, a palm, a wrist, until an entire arm was revealed. Though, it was not naked. A dark blue cloth covered it, and then the rest of the body stepped out.

For the first time in some twenty odd years, Amasa was breathing air again.

13 

Buffy was moved at the pace of a maimed turtle. She walked with a limp where all her weight was shifted to her right leg while cradling her wrist over her latter arm. It gave her stride an odd shimmy, her shoulders rotating in the opposite of her legs in a slanted manner. 

Though, in the large scale of things her knee wasn't feeling half-bad. It was scrapped, a thin layer of skin shredded from the top with a gash in its middle proving the blood flow. And if bent to a certain extent, it would send a lightning bolt up her leg to her midsection. But this was no big thing. It was her body, as a whole, that felt beaten, bruised, like she'd been put through a gladiator match. It was this unified sense of pain that made her feel tired, not just physically but mentally as well.

I can rest later. I've got work to do. 

This resolve came shortly after the presence of flying vampires and such halted. First by lessening its load, the stream had turned to a dribble towards the end, and then stopped altogether. And there was another thing that peaked her curiosity; the feeling that she should be dead. A deadline had never been given specifically so her watch was useless, but the nagging feeling that it had passed clung to Buffy. She wasn't sure if it was Slayer instinct, logical deduction or subtle paranoia. 

She continued down the path, occasionally overstepping the human casualty and dozens of abandoned weapons, till she reached the lair. She supposed she looked like a weary boxer, stepping back into the ring for a final round. But when she got there, her opponent, or opponents, were gone. 

A mad desire to just scream was building within her.

She felt strung out. She looked across the barren cave, right to left, her head faintly jerking every which way despite her attempts to remain steady. 

"Now who's that?"

At first she wasn't sure who said it, but then she realized it must have been her. She'd just thought the same thing, after all. 

A person (she couldn't tell what sex) was standing in the corner. His/her back to Buffy, shaven head reflecting the flickering firelight from the torches, a sudden feeling of dejavu overwhelmed Buffy. And for a reason she didn't understand, she suddenly felt scared.

The person turned around, presumably curious from the audible question 

"Come here," the man said and motioned Buffy forward. "It's about to happen."

Buffy felt the urge to look behind her, see if the man was talking to anybody else. But she would know if someone were following her, wouldn't she, even in her current state.

Buffy started towards the man. The thought of whom or what he was never entered her mind. He didn't seem like a threat and he'd asked something of her; it was enough for now. And there was something else too, maybe? Maybe he reminded her of her dad?

He was standing, chin tilted downward, gaze parallel of the slant. Buffy continued her tottering till she was at his side. 

At first, she couldn't help but look at him. Though she'd already seen his face, from afar, hesitation built within her as she walked to him. The back of his head was all she could see, the front now a mystery able to morph itself reveal his truth while hidden from her. But it was nothing. He was, for appearance's sake, normal. 

Even by his side her stare wouldn't break. He did kind of look like her dad. Well, at least he was around the same age and same kind patience was in his face. That was her interpretation anyway.

"Almost here," he hushed, eyes never leaving the ground.

It was at this moment that curiosity finally registered with Buffy. What was he looking at?

The blanket. And the clothes Austin was wearing too. Baby pajamas with childlike emblems across the fabric. Fear suddenly filled Buffy. She visibly shook.

Where _was_ Austin?

Before she had the opportunity to express her overwhelming panic something spoke to her. Destiny? The confident warmth of the man and where his attention was focused at the moment? Or maybe it was the threat of the madness she knew would engulf her if the question brought her the answer she knew she'd receive.

Miracles could happen, especially in this town.

Buffy stood beside the man from a time period that she couldn't define if someone asked her after. It was cliché, but to her it seemed as an eternity. Maybe it wasn't just before you died physically that the last few moments stretched eternally; perhaps it was emotionally too?

No further statements regarding the coming event were uttered from the man. And Buffy suspected that maybe she'd blinked when it did happen because it just happened too quickly. One moment there was nothing and the next Austin was lying there, naked and calm, eyes fully open and gazing at the nothingness on top of him. It was after Buffy caught notice of the dried blood on his hand that she began to cry, tears suddenly bursting out as if they'd sneaked up behind and jumped her. 

"It's okay," the man said, soothing like. "He's perfectly fine."

The man knelt down and lifted Austin up slightly, dragging his jam-jams out from under him. He placed the clothing to the side and proceeded to wrap Austin in the blanket, comfortably nestled in its warmth. 

Buffy had begun to fight back the tears and was wiping them from her face when the man scooped up Austin. The boy didn't seem to mind.

The man turned to Buffy and said, "You should sit down. Rest is something that you need."

Buffy slumped back down, landing on her bum and sitting cross-legged on the relatively flat portion of the bedrock. The man was still kneeling, holding Austin, looking at Austin with a faint smirk. This was the closest thing she'd seen to a genuine emotion in the man during their short courtship.

"Do you want to carry him?" he asked.

Still rubbing the coursing tears from her cheeks, Buffy took a moment to answer. The answer, however, was obvious. 

"Give him here," she said. The man handed Austin over.

The man didn't move a foot away from his spot. After stepping forward one pace, he stepped back. He folded his legs in front of him, as Buffy had done so, and looked back to the portal, the black hole against the within the foundations of the wall. 

Supreme joy had reigned over Buffy, gazing/crying/laughing over Austin, till she saw where his attention lay. 

"What is that?" Buffy asked, subtly rocking Austin back and forth.

The man spoke without hesitation. "That is the gateway that Jael was focusing on creating. It leads from this dimension to the next, though, its time of stability is short."

Why can't this day ever be over? 

A thousand questions came to mind, but nothing that she wanted to know the answer of. Austin was here, Willow could be happy again. Everything else be damned.

"I need something of you," the man said, harboring some sort of dread in his voice. Buffy felt the urge to cry again. "I seek the audience of someone who I will not be able to reach in my short time here. And it is imperative that I speak with her, for his sake," he added, seeming to speak in a manner that would bring forth the apocalypse. 

A name quickly came to Buffy. "Willow?" she asked.

The man nodded. "That's right. I can't speak to her directly so I was hoping you could help me get around that."

Willow, that's whom he wanted. She who bore the Chosen One. The One who he waited for, cradled, and showed no menace to. 

A matter of urgency like only Sunnydale could do it. 

Buffy looked at the man with tear stained eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

* * * *

Willow woke from her deep sleep feeling strangely beaten. Her entire body throbbed, aching from a bludgeoning that she couldn't remember. 

And then she realized that she couldn't see.

Oddly, she was fine with it. She knew that her eyes were open, she could feel herself blinking, but there was nothing. Not even the dull haze of light trying to creep into her sight. It was an absolute darkness. 

At the time she felt it was part of the dream. The dream where… 

What was I doing again? 

Now she couldn't remember. It was clear to her a moment ago but now it was gone. All she knew was that she was in an open space but that too was fading from her memory.

I was, I _am_… I don't remember… 

She viciously began to blink her eyelids, forgetting that there were other parts of her body as well, for the moment. Her ears, though, seemed to be working fine without her acknowledgment.

"Willow? Willow are you there?"

It was a man's voice, and she definitely wasn't dreaming. Her body hurt too much to be dreaming. 

"Dreams are like movies sometimes, they may seem scary but they can't hurt you." 

That's what her mom said after she first watched _Jaws_ during a sleep over at Xander's. The after effect being a month of nightmares and a two year absence of swimming in lakes, private pools, and most importantly, oceans. And this wasn't your usually post birth aching (the birth, and the pain going along with it, still vivid in her mind), this was 'I've just been run over by a truck' pain. Which was kind of similar to 'birth pain' but a tamer version of. Still, it hurt. 

"Relax. Relax," the man said, trying to ease her. "You're just having a hard time adjusting. It'll come."

And it did. Or at least, that's what it appeared to be. The light was creeping in, the dark giving away to a blue in the corner of her vision. A bruised blue, she thought, thinking of how her body may have looked. Judging from the way she felt. A very bruised blue. 

"What happened?"

Was that me? she thought. And yes, it was. She suddenly became aware she was still blinking in her attempt to better her sight. Consciously she stopped and smiled a little. I must have looked pretty funny. 

She became conscious of several other things soon after. She was sitting on something hard, her legs folded on top of each other. Just like in Kindergarten class. Except Kindergarten never started this weird, in retrospect, and never made her feel this worried, in retrospect. Perspective was an odd thing.

Her eyes began to moisten, the events of the last few months, two days in particular, filling her head suddenly. Tears were quickly leaking through her shut eyelids. Don't do this now, don't do- 

"Look what's in your arms," the man said. And she could. Her sight was back to normal; she just hadn't used it yet.

Willow looked at the man. He was looking at her intently. A plain faced male who could probably vanish in a crowd with an amazing amount of ease, if it weren't for his hair. The lack of a thick brush drawing a bit more attention than that of the commoner. 

"Look," he said again, nodding in the direction of her belly, and smiled a little.

I don't want to look. I don't want to- 

But she forced herself despite the fear. A weight was in her arms, something familiar. 

He wasn't dead. 

A boy with skin a shade more tanned than hers, inquisitive eyes in an otherwise indifferent face, chubby cheeks, dark hair on his round little head. 

Her son was lying, coherent, well, awake, in her arms.

"Oh, my god," Willow said tearfully, bordering on near hysteria. "Oh, my dear lord."

She was holding him. _Her son_ was in her arms. 

"Oh god," she whispered, rocking back and forth. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." 

Though, for the moment, she had no idea who she was thanking. The strange man sitting across from her had temporarily fled her mind.

Yes, thank… 

A dirty, blond clump of hair had slid into her view. It hung off her brow, plastered together in a mix of dirt and sweat, dangling there. Willow stopped rocking, her eyes unable to move from the hair.

It came to her in stages. 

"Oh geez." She paused, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes glossing over her surroundings. "I'm not in the hospital anymore." The black, oval nothing in the side of the wall met with her gaze. She could feel the scar on the inside of her hand with the tips of her fingers. "I'm not in my _body _anymore!"

Who had blond hair and a scar on the palm of her hand? 

"I'm in Buffy's body!?" she said, speaking more as a question than a statement.

The man nodded. "That's right." He raised his hand, as if to starve off her questions or worry. "Don't worry, she's fine. Her mind is temporarily asleep so you're astral projection can retain as host." 

Willow/Buffy raised an eyebrow. Astral projection? "Transcending the physical to become something greater than the mortal," or something like that. Something that wasn't a common occurrence for even the most experienced wiccan. 

"Be careful not to strain your friend's body," he continued. "She's been hurt during this whole ordeal."

That was the truth. Her/Buffy's wrist especially hurt, and her knee. She tucked the wrist away neatly under the latter arm, leaving the top of her forearm to assist holding her son up. There was little pressure on it for now, dulling the pain to an unending burning. But if Buffy could deal with this on a regular basis so could she. She just had to be strong.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said, after giving her a moment to think things over. "I, Willow Rosenberg, am Amasa, last of the Vmyri Cerln. I say that so you know my intentions are nothing but well. You've heard of my race many times tonight, haven't you?"

"From Liam," Willow said.

It was subtle, but Willow could have sworn the man flinched. He recalled something. Disturbing, painful, or fearful? She wasn't sure what.

"Yes. Liam believed he was one but he was only partly right."

_Was_? 

**_was_** past 1st & 3d sing of BE. BE _to be alive while_ WAS _meaning another notch in Death's belt in his attempts to break Willow Rosenberg and her friends_. AKA: YOUR FRIEND IS DEAD!

The revelation must have shown on her face. The man, Amasa, suddenly looked the way she felt. Solemn, desolate, sad; take your pick. It was like looking into a mirror that only saw expressions. 

"I should have known this would happen." She began to laugh softly, but stopped as she felt Buffy's body wasn't up to it. "Just from precedent, you know?" 

The man didn't say anything for a moment. He didn't even look at her. His eyes were down to her. Maybe he was watching her shadow, thought, it hardly even moved. The flame's steady burn, of the cave, forbid the dark to dance.

"We needed a weapon," the man began, still not looking at her. "Something that Jael thought would be his key to victory. Thankfully he didn't know that Liam possessed this valuable trait as well."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Willow cried hoarsely. 

The man didn't seem to mind the accusing statement. He simply pressed on.

"I'm trying to explain to you what happened. Liam knew what had to be done to end this madness." The man paused, sighed, and began to speak again, quieter, and almost apologetic. "It seems whenever the stakes are high, They demand some sort of sacrifice. Only, this time it was willing."

A personal sacrifice, Willow thought. When Angel was trying tried to open Acathla, Buffy had to send him to hell. She had to put Faith into a coma when the Major was trying to Ascend. She scowled. They _are_ cruel. 

"Believe it or not, give the circumstances we were under, things went as well as they possibly could. And I'm sorry to say this… but… the battle isn't truly over yet."

Oh, crap. Why was he telling her this? Why was he-

"I don't want to listen to this," Willow said and tried forcing Buffy's body to her feet. Her legs seemed as stiff as concrete, locked into their positions. But she did it, holding her son close with her good arm. The man followed suit as Willow/Buffy began to walk, although slowly, away.

"I sought an audience with you for a reason," the man said sternly. Willow continued staggering to the entrance to the cave, not even sure where she was going. "You have to hear me!"

Willow/Buffy abruptly stopped. She pivoted around, keeping the weight off her hurt knee. Her eyes were blazing.

"I don't have to do anything," Willow said coldly. "Do you know what the past few months of my life have been like?"

The man looked unsure, before finally saying, "I know."

"You don't know anything! Do you know what it's like to have a life growing inside of you? To feel him kick, him hiccup?" she said and smiled, though, her expression quickly reverted back to a grimace. "And do you know what it's like to go through that alone? To know that your child will never know his father? That he died for no real reason!" The man still hadn't looked her in the eye. "Why, huh!? Why did Oz have to die for _Them_?!"

"I don't know." It was a pathetic answer, she knew it and he knew he knew it too. But it was honest.

"I'm going to be going now," Willow said.

"But I do know something about what it's been like for you," the man said suddenly, catching her off guard. "I know what it's like to love someone, to raise them, watch them grow up, and see him die. And then, with such a bitter smile, say, 'It was all for the best.'" He demonstrated this smile briefly, while Willow eyed him closely. "That's something I do know about. And you have to trust me when I say this: your child, we're all in mortal danger!" 

The man pointed to the back end of the cave, his finger finding its destination easily without the benefit of the man's sight. Willow's eyes followed the direction and she paused, taking in the ramifications of this object. Jael had achieved his goal. The gateway and the connection were complete.

The man looked at Willow, unflinching, his eyes never breaking from hers. 

"That is what Jael fought so hard to create! The physically manifestation of the portal may only be temporary but your son and my realm are now eternally connected." The man paused, breathing in deeply for what seemed to be the long run of the speech. "If your son dies everything dies. That is as simple as I can put it. The devil may be dead but his weapon still waits to be used. It doesn't matter how it happens, sickness, murder, old age, if your son's heart ceases to beat what your race refers to as the Time Stream will die and reality will unravel. Now I have a solution for this but it require an unending amount of faith and trust on your part. Are you willing to listen and consider what I'm asking?"

Willow didn't speak for a few seconds. She would have preferred to keep it that way, for as long as possible. She knew it wasn't a possibility. Buffy/Willow reluctantly nodded. Austin cooed, looking up and into his mother's gaze.

The man dropped his arm and turned to face the portal. Willow expected him to begin speaking abruptly, trying to get through whatever he had to say as quickly and painlessly as possible. But he didn't. He just stood there, silent, straight and tall with his arms hanging limply at his sides. 

Willow limped over to his side and he began.

"This right here is are solution and problem. It carried me here and it can take me back but that will be it. As I said previously, it's life is only temporary and will soon be gone from existence. I cannot enter this realm at will and would prefer not to, if I may be so blunt."

"You may," Willow said emotionlessly. The man continued speaking in a similar tone.

"There are too many dangers here, is what I meant to say. I do not remember being born and I have no recollection of how I came to this knowledge but it is not a life that I would trade away. Some responsibilities are worth the burden." He looked at her with deep brown eyes. "Do you understand?"

Vaguely, she did. But she felt as if she would soon know it better. "Yes."

"Good, because you have such a grave responsibility in your hands. I cannot take your son forcefully from you, nor would I want to. I would prefer to keep my heart pure, though, I sometimes have to guide men and women to their deaths. I'm sure you can relate to that through your adventures in the Slayer's fold."

Her eyes were loose with tears. "Yes."

"Your life from this point will not be easy. It's never easy not knowing the fate of a loved one," he said solemnly. Willow was crying steadily now. "But if you chose to let go, I can promise you that I will love your son as much as you would and he will be safe. You will never have to worry about some random killing your son. As I said to Liam, time has no meaning there, and it will never catch up to him."

Willow didn't say anything and the man didn't have anything left to say. Finally, she felt as if she had to break the quiet.

"You want to take him?"

"It's the only way we can all be safe," he said quickly, without thought.

Another, real, question came to mind.

"If the connection is mystical," Willow whispered, "isn't there some way that we can break it? I mean, I may not be the most experienced wiccan but I'm sure I can find somebody who can help us. Giles! He probably knows some people. I'm sure-!"

"No." 

Willow felt her heart drop and then shatter into a thousand pieces. It was just too cruel. 

"No," the man, Amasa, repeated, maybe realizing how sunken his words sounded. "The spell isn't only a matter of magic but also of blood. His and Jael's were mixed and that is in part what binds your son to my realm. There is only one way that I know of to break the spell but it will not be available for some years, when he can perform it himself," Amasa added quietly. 

Willow did not hear that last part. She was still caught on the mention of blood.

"How can that be?" Willow muttered to herself, not expecting an answer from the man. 

It was a question that he seemed to be prepared for.

"Whatever makes your son special is what saved him from becoming a vampire. The two forces, the dark and the light, found some sort of equilibrium within him," he said, still barely raising his voice above a whisper. Amasa looked back to Willow after staring at the wall for a period. "Because of the impurity he won't have access to the strengths that he should, but he'll live and I think that's enough."

Willow didn't say anything.

It was in grade 2 when Willow first confronted her first really academic challenge. Math was something that she'd enjoyed, and addition and subtracting numbers was as easy to her as spelling cat or dog. But the multiplication table was something that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around. She understood aspects of the concept, but without the numbers in front of her, it was something she could not do on the spot. At a precise moment, though, when her father was running it by her, one last time, that it just clicked. All the parts came together in a grand operatic gesture and she finally had an understanding.

It was much the same way with Amasa. He'd been hinting all along, giving her pieces for her to play with while steadily building to a conclusion. A conclusion that she could come to on her own.

Willow looked back to her son. He'd fallen asleep. For the first time in what seemed hours she was watching him sleep. 

And it would be for the last time. She knew that. 

His face was calm, his eyes closed and resting, his chest rising in a steady motion beneath the blanket. And his hands, his hands were clutched into fists, partially ending their constant search for something to grab or hold onto. 

And inside one of those fist was a gash, a splotch of red, parched and hard, stuck to the edge of his fist and visible to her eye. Dried blood that had trickled down while the wound was fresh. Before it'd healed.

She now knew what was there. It had not been bandaged for some time and no bleeding was noticeable. The bleeding had stopped and the cut had sealed and now all that was there was a scar, like the one on Buffy's hand, and her friend's…

"Take him," Willow commanded and turned to face Amasa. "Take him! Before I loose my nerve."

He looked her in the eye, half his face hidden in shadows. "Are you certain?"

Willow swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to tear up again. "Yes."

She took a step forward and handed her son to him, Amasa's arms becoming a soft manger. Austin didn't stir.

He looks so peaceful, she thought and began to choke back the tears. There would be time to cry later. Right now, she wanted to be calm, take in this last full glance of her child. Her/Buffy's body shook suddenly, aching from the inside, and the pain of bludgeoning made itself known again. She was about to fold.

"Goodbye," she whispered and Amasa looked at her thoughtfully.

"I know his middle name and his last, but you haven't told me his first," Amasa said.

Willow briefly smiled and then was hit with another bout of the sniffles.

"I think you already know that," Willow said. "His name is Liam."

* * * *

Willow felt as if no time had passed since she'd left Buffy back at the lair. The room was lit brilliantly, causing her to squint as she came out of her (body's) sleep. Her body ached, but it was a more familiar pain. Not like the surprise that was waking in Buffy's beaten body.

Buffy. 

The head of the bed was still tilted up, left as it was from when she'd fallen asleep, making it easy to scan the room. There were people she could see through the slits that made her blurred vision. And they were talking. Her mother she recognized, and the sympathizing tone that can only come from a doctor. They were talking about her, obviously.

"-as I see it, she's fine-"

Willow yawned softly and stretched, her arms reaching above her shoulders. Nobody was alert to this she saw. The only other people in the room besides the doctor and her mother were Xander and Angel, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room like sulking dogs. 

"Angel," she called out, making not much more than a peep of a mouse. "Angel!"

The entire room stopped. All eyes turned to her. Though, Angel's were all she cared about at the moment.

"Go get her," Willow said huskily, feeling her tear ducts readying to work again. "She's where you found her last time, asleep."

That last part pleased him, momentarily. Asleep, it sounded better than dead. 

"Uh, how did our team do?" Xander asked, casting a nervous glance back to the doctor while doing so. Him and Angel, leaning forward off the floor, seemed the only ones who cared about the answer. This was just too new for her mother.

"They won," Willow said emotionlessly, and turned away from all their stares. Salty tears were rolling down her cheeks. "We lost a lot of players but we won."

Her entire body began to shake and quiver. Angel was on his feet, as was Xander, concerned expressions all around.

"Willow-" Angel began.

"No!" Willow screamed. "You go get Buffy. She needs you because she's all _alone_." 

_Alone_, it carried a double meaning and they knew it. Her enemies were gone but the same could be said for her allies.

The two seemed as brothers for the moment, Angel and Xander. They both seemed to have a faint glimpse of hope in their eyes and it was simultaneously crushed. Though, she could have sworn it was an expected blow. Like a child who'd just seen his puppy run over but waiting for the veterinarian to pronounce it dead.

They knew what Liam had done. Whatever his final act was, they knew it.

That was what she saw, Liam's passing in their eyes.

Angel said nothing. He pushed his way past the doctor and Sarah and his gaining footfalls so fled as well. At least Buffy would be okay.

Yeah, but what about me? 

Now that isn't the way to think, Willow cursed herself. She wasn't raised to be selfish. Something had to be done and it wasn't her place to-

Willow had begun to cry again.

"Ms. Rosenberg," the doctor, a balding man in his early fifties, began.

"Shut up!" Willow snapped. The man's jaw locked and he took a step back, somewhat frightened. Willow quieted her voice, "Just get out of here. There's nothing wrong with me that you can do anything for."

Willow turned onto her side and fluffed the pillow beneath her head. She sighed and heard the man walk out through the opened door. 

Xander and her mother were still in the room.

Please just leave. Please. 

She closed her eyes, hoping for something but unsure of what. Everything, maybe. For her life to be exactly as she wanted it. Maybe it was just for the room to empty. Tears were running slanted across her face.

She heard someone walking, Xander judging from where the sound originated. He stepped back to where she first saw him and Angel. Then it was sounds that she couldn't place. 

Never mind that, she thought. It was time to go to sleep. It was the closest thing to happiness she could see at the moment.

"Sleep," she muttered, her eyes still closed to the world.

"Will."

Willow opened her eyes. Xander had sneaked up on her. He was kneeling on the floor, his neck tilted to the left to match hers. Her frown curled slightly. It was sweet.

"There's something on this that you might want to read later." Xander raised something from off the floor, a laptop, and put it back down. "_Really_ read it." His eyes were sincere.

Willow slid over to the edge of the bed. It was plugged into the outlet beside the bed. Another thing she'd missed Xander doing.

"And if you want some food just call for us using that… clicky thing. Most of the nurses are scared of you," he said with a sly grin. Willow just stared at him. "Plus there was that whole Angel thing that happened when you were sleeping but I'll explain that later. Now you just try and sleep," he said and kissed her on the forehead. 

Xander looked back to the door, Willow's mom, and back to her. Willow couldn't see what kind of glance had been exchanged. 

"Do you want the lights on or off?"

"On," she replied softly. "It's soothing."

"Alright. Remember the clicky thing, okay?" She nodded.

Xander left the room and she heard her mom say something about getting rest before she followed. It was after the door closed that Willow realized she wasn't tired. She'd been wiped out earlier but now, after the out of body experience, she felt physically better. Sleep wasn't something she'd be approaching for awhile.

She knew she could try, let her mind quiet and remain as still as possible, but it would do nothing. The outlet was still in her view, the single cord stretching limply to somewhere below her. 

Willow reached down off the bed and fumbled around, searching for the cord. She found it, traced its path to the computer, and pulled it up. It was heavier than hers, a year older too, and its black shell held numerous scratches. 

She set the base of the computer on the top of her legs, the heat soaking down through the blanket. What secrets can you hold, she thought and sat back up against the bed. 

"_Really_ read it." 

Suddenly she felt very anxious. It was a feeling she realized was pleasing. Anything other than the deadweight of sadness and depression was welcomed. 

She realized she felt dead inside.

Willow placed her hands on the sides of the computer, pulled the clips forward, and lifted the screen upward. Tears began to roll down her puffy face once again.

_To my mother_, it said on the tiny icon at the bottom of the desktop. A word program. 

She stared at it and felt something. Not necessarily joy but perhaps the doorway to it. She clicked on the icon and began to read.

00

Liam was in the hospital. He had only a few minutes before he would have to leave and begin his march to Jael. 

Angel was on the floor, sleeping, laid flat on the floor before Liam. When it happens, the wind rising to take all those in the area with the mark of the dead, including himself, Angel will merely be pulled against the wall and remain unconscious till its conclusion. The only evidence of its happening will be Xander's testimony and the imprint of his weight into the plaster.

His saving grace will be his distance from the portal, its winds loosing its potency with each inch traveled. 

After that the staff will arrive. Amy will awake along with Angel, groggy and questioning, and Xander will allow them to read what he has. 

My final testimonial to this world. 

Liam held the computer steady on crossed legs; his back pushed against the wall and the back of his head doing the same. 

What to write? What to write? That was the question.

This was the only aspect of the coming events that he didn't see. Hadn't wished to see. Amasa's words had affected him too deeply.

"I will save us. That is true. But it will be your job to save her." A question from Liam. "She will do what's necessary. You know that. You wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't absolute. But it's the afterwards that is in question. What will happen to her after she gives you up, her only son, the thing that has kept her sane for these past few months? She can descend into madness or move on. It will be up to you." 

"My words must be true," he whispered and lifted the screen upward, into sight. His fingers began to type.

_To my mother,_

He paused for a moment, and added:

__

(and Xander since I know he won't possess the self-restraint necessary to leave this message alone and will read the entire thing before she can: ) 

Yes, that was nice. Humorous but still an attention grabber. Now what else? Sincerity, a word that was infinitely stuck in his mind. He began to type again.

__

My name is Liam Austin Rosenberg, son of Daniel Osbourne and Willow Rosenberg. Willow, mom, this will come of no surprise to you. By this time you'd have given me up, again. My blood infected with Jael's, and my spirit tied to the nexus that my younger self will now consider home. I know you must be feeling like hell right now, crushed by this feeling overwhelming feeling of sadness that you feel will never go away. To this I say -

What did he have to say? Nothing.

__

- that I have no idea how you're feeling. And I never will. Others may say they know how you feel but they cannot. I know that. As I typed upward, I know you're "feeling this overwhelming feeling of sadness", but what does that really mean? All I know is that you're feeling bad… and that I'm not there with you. I can't experience it with you and try to help you in whatever way that I can. Because I'm dead, in a few minutes I will be leaving to begin the chain reaction that will lead to Jael's demise, and mine and Buffy's salvation.

A new paragraph now. An explanation:

__

Curing Buffy will be easy enough. My powers are tainted, as Amasa has no doubt told you. Meaning I will have to take lives to save her, to fill myself with the power necessary to cleanse Buffy's blood of Jael's. She was hurt in the fight, and saving her before the blood effects her body to an extreme is the least that I can do. She is your friend and mine after all. 

After that I will save the younger version of myself, and push Jael to doing what's necessary to self-destruction. I will create a temporal fold in time, and push the young me into it for a few minutes. Again, thanks to the lives I will have taken its possible for one man to do such a thing.

And then Jael will kill me, or assist in my suicide. I'm not sure what to call it. 

"I'm going to die," Liam whispered. It was still a shocking statement. He pushed it away, the thought, the _voice,_ and focused on the letter. Detached is good, it was his new saying in life.

__

Giving yourself up, freewill, these are the most important things in the ritual. I am freely giving myself to the vortex. Offer it my blood, and myself, in exchange for its power. Like Lucia told you in her letter, it is the only thing Jael fears. Jael will toss me in and because our blood is the same I will take him and all of our kind with me. 

Angel will be safe, as you've no doubt seen. Not all vampires in Sunnydale will die because the vortex's reach only extends so far. Those few will flee and tell others their tale. And Buffy will have peace, for a time anyway. Long enough to heal from her wounds and feel well again.

As for my younger self… I'll grow up. Amasa will say he's my father and together we'll age. But all that time, till seven months from now, I'll still be connected to the Time Stream. It's only when I break my vow, unconsciously made when I made the Time Stream my home, that the connection is broken. 

And to you, or anybody I guess, the most curious thing about this is how I'm here, right now! While I'm currently less than a day old. The way I think of it is that time is like a circle, and at the middle of that circle is the Time Stream. From that single spot, simply by turning your view, you can see anywhere in time. I never knew that. I watched the same world events as you did. When you were a child, I was a child. So I watched, never knowing other realities were out there as well, always at Jael's side through the eye. I never knew we could go back, or forward with the eye. I always thought we were on a linear plane, traveling at the same speed and toward the same destination. Amasa knew I needed to grow up first, before I could face Jael, and meet you.

And that is thanks to Amasa. He will be the one who performs the spell that binds both vows makes it possible for me to break free. Jael used his will to chain me through a ceremony. Amasa gave me the choice to use my will to free myself with his ritual. When I chose to leave my home and save Buffy because I know it was my will that doomed her to death in those sewers, I was born again.

I owe my life to him. We all do. 

For that I ask you to forgive him, and yourself. Jael could have won, easily, and you would have died. But Amasa made it happen when so many things could have gone wrong. And he brought me to you, even if it was just for a few months, and for that I'm eternally grateful.

And you let me go to save us and for that I'm so very proud of you.

You are my mother, and I love you. 

I wish I could have known my father as I've known you but I guess… I don't know. I feel cheated, honestly. But I don't hate anyone for it since I know whatever you're feeling is nothing compared to your loss. 

I wish I could say something to make this end well…

Bye- Liam

Liam hit save and then clicked on it again. The first three words were to be the file name. Partly because he couldn't think of an appropriate title, partly because it was just there, but mostly, it was the great truth. 

I once was lost but now am found. 

That was from the Bible, wasn't it? A hymn or something that he'd heard on one of his inquiries to seek a definition of how Church fit into life. To some it's a book of truths. That was one of the facts he'd learnt there. Gospel preached by those who're in touch with God. But that simple statement, it was his truth. It cleared the dark, dreary clouds from his path and created a new one. 

It was a paradox. His life was ending, the seconds counting themselves to extinction, but it truly felt as if it was just beginning. 

The cycle is in a constant rebirth. Growing, changing, dying and always in a state of change.

Such was his life. It was a cycle in the truest sense.

Liam shut the computer, set it at his side, and began to walk.

PRAISE THE LORD, THE BASTARD IS IN THE GROUND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, how I've come to hate this story. Cool back in the day, (when it was figured to be a 100-120pg fic) really totally sucks now! But it's my stubborn ways. I'm not one to quit something once I've invested myself personally into it. Even if I truly fucking hate the SOB I continue forward. Virtue or flaw? You make the call.

Thanks to Pertonias or something and Karen from Slayerfanfic for helping me the one time I decided to do some research on the BtVS universe. Now to the list:

THINGS I'VE LEART WHILE WRITING THIS STORY:

1/ You can swear too much and make have a bit too much violence in stories. I grew up watching movies like 'The Last Boy Scout' and 'See No Evil, Hear No Evil' so…who knew?

2/ You should look up words in the dictionary before using them. Simple but true.

3/ Stories with a plot always, I MEAN ALWAYS, double or triple in length despite your best attempts to keep it small. Fucking bridge scenes…

4/ The comma is the devil and the semicolon is his bitch. Next:

5/ If you try to mess with the mythology of the BtVS universe, Joss, like a loyal pit bull, will jump up and bite you in the ass! And don't even try to create histories for his characters or you'll be feeling the pain in that other oh-so personal area.

6/ The easiest time to write is when the infomericals are getting good. Ah, George Forman, will you ever be able to top that grilling device of yours?

7/ What's brilliant at 5 in the morning isn't always such in the evening. Look above now!

8/ Flea markets and pawnshops are good places to shop. Courteous service and low, low prices. How can you go wrong? (being serious there, by the way)

9/ If you're going to write a fic where your plot pushers are killed off faster than lines at Robert Downy Jr's birthday party, make sure to introduce plenty of backup characters. They may come in handy.

10/ Keep a table listing characters and their fates in your story! Especially if you're in any way like me!!!!!! Nearly had a fucking aneurysm writing that big battle scene with Jael and trying to figure out who was going to live (longer) and how each was going to get killed off.

11/ Odd imagery can hit you when writing for an extended period of time. I kept imagining myself beating a reader over the head with a sausage during the explanation scenes. "Do you get it now! Huh!? DO YOU GET IT YET!!!!"

12/ Fights will go on for as long as they have to!

And the thirteenth and final thing I've learnt while writing this story:

13/ Never start writing a story that's intended to be an odd experiment if you're not absolutely sure you love the plot. You'll just end up hating it and it'll show in your writing.

Closing: Mega big thanks to Lin for encouragement when I was just starting out on this thing. Sweetest person in the world I say! I ripped off various 'X-Men' plots for this fic (Mutant Massacre, Fall of the Mutants (THE BEST), Inferno, X-cutioner's Song for you hardcores out there) so now you know. Sloppy is the word I'd use to describe this story so if you read this and said, "This is shit!" you're right. But if you actually liked it, well, I spent countless hours on it so cool. This piece of fiction was meant to be the equivalent of Speedy Gonzalez, the fastest mouse in all of Mexico, in my mind. Lots of action and paced wicked fast.

By the way, if you don't have a clue what the fuck went down in this story I don't blame ya. It looses me too sometimes.

Upcoming projects: Bitch Slap 2000, Moosa (formerly Moosa/ the meese of God, damn you thieving Billy Corgan! DAMN YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL!), and Past Perfect. Let's see how long it takes me to finish those ones…


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